


Damages

by theprodigypenguin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood, Bruises, Chaser!James, Comfort, Concussions, Confessions, Couch Cuddles, Crushes, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Daydreaming, Draught of Peace, Drinking Games, Drinking to Cope, Drug Dependence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, FALMOUTH FALCONS, FURTHER CONTENT DETAILS IN A/N, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forced Kissing, Gryffindor, Guilt, Hangover, Happy Ending, Healer, Healer Teddy Lupin, Height Differences, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, Hugging, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, Injury Recovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Breakdown, Metamorphmagus, Mind Healer, Minor Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, Mutual Pining, Never Have I Ever, Night Terrors, Nightmares, No Sex, No Sexual Content, No Smut, No penetration, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Albus, Quidditch, Quidditch Player James Sirius Potter, Recovery, Sad with a Happy Ending, Scars, Scorbus, Self-Esteem Issues, Shame, Slytherin, Sobbing, St Mungos, Sweater sharing, True Love, a protective little brother is best, anti-anxiety pills, breakdown - Freeform, emotional breakdown, healer!scorpius, healer!teddy, irish poitin, james sirius potter x teddy lupin, jeddy, minor alcohol dependence, minor scorbus, not explicit, self-harm scratching, smol james is best james sorry i don't make the rules, teddy is a pizza delivery boy for like half a scene, valid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 06:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18614950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprodigypenguin/pseuds/theprodigypenguin
Summary: James wasn't one to hide things about himself from the people around him. He was brought up to be proud of who he was, every piece of himself. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality or his preferences, the gender he was attracted to or otherwise, and his family wasn't ashamed of it either. No, in the end he was ashamed not for who he was, but for who he loved, and the fear that everyone else would be ashamed and would hate him for the same thing.





	Damages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writersummer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writersummer/gifts).



> A/N: Okay I've been working on this fic for a couple of weeks now, fighting back a lot of doubt and writers block that was instigated by a bunch of irl stress, so I'm actually insanely proud of myself for managing to finish it. It definitely isn't for everyone, since I go into a couple of darker themes, but most of it isn't majorly graphic or explicit. Details regarding the darker content of this fic is absolutely necessary to list, because the last thing I want to do is majorly squick someone or god forbid trigger anyone, so I added a few assurances or explanations on the more negative topics and scenes, just in case anyone is worried. Most of it is centered around James:
> 
> ▪ There isn't any excessive drinking, and only the beginning scene shows James drunk, he doesn't drink much (if at all) for the rest of the fic.  
> ▪ There is NO RAPE, but there is attempted assault and non-consensual drunk kissing and touching.  
> ▪ The violence is not very explicit or graphic, the actual beating takes up maybe half a paragraph. The most graphic piece of violence is a backhand and James falling against a dumpster.  
> ▪ There is talk of self-scratching at hands and arms, nothing more than that.  
> ▪ There is a small mention of dependence on an anxiety medicine (the Draught of Peace in pill form recommended by a Healer).
> 
> I'm sure the tags will chase away a lot of potential readers, but the most important thing here is that people take care of themselves. If you're squicked by any of the tags but still want to read, then I think you'll be okay. Most of the dark themes are written about vaguely or in passing and are not graphic or explicit. If you're triggered by any of the tags, then please be cautious, and don't feel bad if you have to put this fic to the side. Your mental health is way more important than anything else. If you're still interested in reading but want to be prepared for the possible triggers then please feel free to DM me on Tumblr (theprodigypenguin (idk if you can DM people on A03)) and ask me anything you might be nervous or anxious about.
> 
> If you're not triggered or squicked at all by the tags and you're all just emotional masochists, then please continue and enjoy to your hearts desire! I really enjoyed exploring this angle of genre regarding the ship, and writing Teddy as a Healer almost killed me (he's such a good gentle angel I love him). Plus at the very least you'll enjoy the protective Albus parts, because those were some of my favorite scenes to write.
> 
> A special call out and thank you to writersummer for acting as both an alpha and beta when I asked, I honestly may not have finished this fic without your help and could never thank you enough for being so open and crazy enough to tackle this absolute monster of a fic, you're a blessing QwQ
> 
> Additional thanks to buildyourwalls for letting me rant about this fic and helping me through a few of the more frustrating angles in the fic.

Alcohol always left a strange taste on James’ tongue, something heavy and bitter that stung him, but it never stopped him from downing another mouthful of the liquor. He welcomed the burn, the way it made his eyes water, how it settled in his stomach like fire. Muggle alcohol was admittedly much less effective on him than the drinks he could get from the Leaky Cauldron—or one of the other bars around London that sold magic beverages in secret, the exclusive night clubs that you had to walk through walls to enter that mixed up cocktails of firewhisky and giggle water—but it was enough.

Taking longer to get drunk off Muggle lager just meant it was more acceptable to down as many pints as he could before lining up shots to shoot a few more holes into his liver.

He had his fifth pint between his hands, wet from the condensation of the icy liquid against the glass, staring into the drink as the fizz of bubbles made the beer hiss. He had a decent buzz, but he could still remember his day, he could remember everything that happened, everything he didn't _want_ to remember.

“I think you may have had enough.” The bartender was standing on the other side of the bar, an eyebrow lifted as he leaned towards James. He almost sounded concerned, but James was willing to bet it was all in the job description to say that at least once a night to someone who looked like they might be a problem.

“Just give me something stronger,” James said impatiently, sliding the half finished pint across the bar towards the bartender. “Vodka, whisky, tequila, take every hard liquor and just mix it, I don't care.”

The man sighed with an agitated roll of his eyes, pushing back and grabbing the pint. “Fine. You seem sober enough, and you're good for it. I'll give you something that'll burn your lips off.”

James really hoped he meant that. He wanted to be drunk, he wanted to be blacked out, he wanted to be completely incapable of coherent thought, to wake up in a ditch somewhere still stenching of the liquor he'd consumed.

For half a moment he considered the consequences, the blinding headache he knew he'd have in the morning, the way his mother would wrinkle her nose when she hugged him, because these days he always smelt of alcohol, and she _knew_ what he was doing. The shame he'd feel knowing how disappointed his father would be, the click of McGonagall’s tongue, the shake of his aunt's head. The way his heart would crack into pieces when Teddy's eyes would stare at him blankly, emotionless, as if he'd given up on James already.

Then all the hesitation snapped away when the bartender set down a glass of clear liquid. The excitement hid the ache of shame as James cradled his hands around the glass, simultaneously curious and disappointed.

“What is it? Water?”

“It’s Irish Poitín. Just drink it.” The bartender tossed his rag over his shoulder and nodded. “You want to get good and wasted. Just a glass of that, you won't even remember your name.”

“Will I remember anyone else's name?” James asked, sliding the pad of his finger around the rim of the crystal glass, letting it sing out for a moment before taking a hold of it and throwing his head back.

The burn was unexpected, worse than he was used to, and he nearly coughed it out as the man who'd served it laughed, arms folded.

“Mate, whatever you're trying to forget, I wouldn't recommend any alcohol I have here. Maybe you should just face your problems like a man, or get some therapy.”

James had the back of his hand against his lips, which were burning painfully from the liquor, and shook his head, swallowing the remnants of the drink and giving the man a scathing look, watching him as he walked away to the other end of the bar.

It would be difficult to explain to the bartender that he doubted a therapist would help him. Sure, alcohol didn't help much either, but being able to forget for a moment, a few hours, was the best he was going to get, and that's what he wanted. To forget.

James wasn't one to hide things about himself from the people around him. He was brought up to be proud of who he was, every piece of himself. He was brave and confident, but maybe that was just his Gryffindor blood rearing its head.

He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality or his preferences, the gender he was attracted to or otherwise, and his family wasn't ashamed of it either. They supported him and accepted who he was without a single ounce of disgust or disappointment. James couldn't have asked for a better family.

No, in the end he was ashamed of himself, not for who he was, but for who he loved, and the fear that everyone else would be ashamed and would hate him for the same thing. That's what made James drink, because he was in love with Teddy Lupin, and if anyone found out?

James lifted the glass of poitín and winced against it, swallowing heavily and rubbing a hand over his face. Sometimes the alcohol didn't make him forget; in fact, sometimes it helped him think, and that's not what James wanted, but it's what happened. How had this even happened? How had it gotten so out of control? As if James could have controlled it in the first place.

Whatever this was he felt for Teddy, it had started a long time ago, slowly developing and growing stronger and stronger until suddenly all he could think about and imagine was holding Teddy, and everything that came with that embrace.

James emptied the rest of the poitín before flagging the bartender for another glass. He didn't seem all that excited about refilling the cup, but he did it without much fuss and just a look of mild irritation.

His mind was growing foggy and unclear, barely noticing when the stool next to him was pulled out and a man he’d never seen before sat down. He turned his head just enough to get a look at the guy. Taller than James with black hair and a scruffy five o'clock shadow that didn't fit his face. His eyes were dark and he stunk of cigarette ash and cologne.

“What's a pretty young man like you doing in a seedy dive bar?” he asked, and James stared at the bubbles rising in his glass, not answering. “Drinking your worries away? That's a bad habit. You know alcohol can really ruin that beautiful complexion.”

James turned his head further to meet the man's dark eyes, offering a smile. “How sweet of you to worry, but I'm not interested in your opinions.” He took another drink of the poitín and stood up, pushing the stool in with his foot. “And for the record, I'm out of your league, so you should probably look elsewhere for a score.”

He turned and walked away from the bar with his glass in hand, carrying his coat in the other hand but draping it over a chair he passed when he heard steps following him. James sighed and turned to glare at the man, who was grinning as he backed James against the wall and leaned in close.

“You know the best way to forget an ex is by finding someone new.” The other man's breath was hot against James’ neck, but it was heat that made James scowl, using his free hand to push at the man's chest to get distance between them.

“I don't have an ex, and all I'm doing here is drinking.” He clarified it further by lifting the glass to his lips and tossing back the last few inches of poitín at the bottom.

The man took the empty glass from him once he was done, setting it on a table nearby and pressing himself closer to James. It was a mix of things—the heavy alcohol; the dizzying scents of liquor, perfume, cologne and incense; the heat from the stuffy bar; the lights flashing and the music that beat in James’ bones—but he felt weightless. The only comfort he found in that moment was when he pressed his back hard into the cool of the sturdy wall behind him, finding himself corralled rather completely by this man he'd never met before.

This close, James could see the height difference; his head against the wall as he stared up at the stranger. Normally this kind of drastic height difference intrigued him, it enticed him, he loved it, but somehow with this man, he didn't feel excited. He felt sick. Nothing this man was doing, closing in on James, their chests pressed together, everything pressed together, was exciting at all. His hands brushed down James’ shoulders and his arms, leaving trails that seemed to itch like acid.

Not like when Teddy touched him.

Teddy would never touch him like _this,_ though. Hands on his hips, fingers slipping into the gap between the hem of his jeans and the bottom of his shirt, digging into the bare skin of his sides as denim clad legs tried to sneak between James’ knees.

Did it always feel like this, then? When people got handsy? Was this what Teddy did when he was with his dates? Reach up and grab onto their hair, pull until their scalp burned and their eyes watered, forcing their head to angle painfully and kiss them, tongue in their throat and teeth biting into their lips?

It was uncomfortable, but James didn't protest. His arms stayed limply at his sides, fingertips pressing into the roughly textured wall for some grip on reality as the horrendous taste of burnt coffee, cheap whisky, cigarettes and marijuana chased away the smooth but biting taste of the Irish Poitín.

The man even smelt of smoke, of sweat and sex and aftershave. James was dizzy, he couldn't breathe, the man wouldn't let up on the kiss to give him enough time for it. Was this how everyone kissed? Was this how Teddy kissed?

Somehow James doubted it.

Thirteen years old, waiting on the platform with his family, he remembered swerving through the crowd in search of Teddy, because he wanted to see him before leaving for Hogwarts. He found him with Victoire, hiding quite badly with their bodies pressed together. Teddy's hands had been cradling Victoire’s face, tenderly, gently, his thumbs on her cheeks, smiling at each other. When they kissed, there was no force to it, Victoire hadn't looked to be in the same distress James was feeling. Soft, gentle, glowing, tender, loving, protective; that was how Teddy kissed.

_This wasn't how Teddy kissed._

James let his hand fly up, smacking the man hard enough that when he jerked away there was blood on his lip, eyes wide in shock and one hand at the little cut now splitting his bottom lip. James shoved him, both hands meeting his broad chest to push him back, and wiped his arm across his mouth.

“Piss off,” he hissed, spitting in the man's direction to emphasize how disgusted he was at him, at himself.

James was shaking. He'd never kissed before, but that had been the worst experience of his life. Maybe his unsteady legs were why he almost fell to the floor when the man shoved him back. If it weren't for the wall behind him, he would have hit the ground, and it was both a blessing and a curse as the man closed in on him again, hands gripping the shirt at James’ shoulders.

“Come on, baby, we're having fun,” the man cooed sweetly, but there was something off about the way his pupils had filled in the color of his wide eyes. “Just calm down a bit.”

“Let go of me,” James said stiffly, his entire body tense, “or you're going to end up in a lot of pain.”

The man seemed fully amused, grinning and laughing. “What can you do, sweetheart? Look at your little self. Just relax.”

His hand was at James’ hip, but was quickly grabbed away. James could feel the bones grind together under his fingers as he twisted the man's hand back to get it away.

“I'm not helpless, you disgusting piece of shit.”

He pushed the man back again and turned, grabbing his coat from where he'd thrown it over the back of a chair and starting for the back door. The man's voice followed him with slurs and insults that made the food in James’ gut curdle. Or maybe that was just the ungodly cocktail of beer, vodka, and poitín he'd emptied into his mouth.

The night air that met him was cold and bit at his cheeks as he pulled the edges of his coat closer. As foggy as his head was, it just wouldn't be safe to apparate back to his flat. He'd end up splinched and vomiting on his kitchen floor, and he couldn't afford to miss practice that was scheduled for the next morning.

He considered the consequences of dragging himself to Albus’ flat, which was closer than his own. Sure his brother would probably give him a hard time, but he was least likely to tell their parents about his bender, how absolutely smashed he was. Not to mention Scorpius was studying to be a Healer and would probably be willing to help James the next morning when he woke up with the inevitable hangover.

He got a few wobbly steps down the alley before the smell of drugs and cigars burned his nostrils, and hands that had seared themselves into his skin minutes earlier in the bar grabbed him from behind, one in his hair and one arm around his waist. James could barely gasp in shock as the man from before dragged him back, his bearings flipping from the alcohol and the cold until he felt his shoulder jam hard against the wall he was thrown against.

He could barely see the man through the dim lighting in the alleyway when he grabbed James by the collar of his coat, holding him up so their noses were brushing.

“I don't like a tease,” he hissed, and James wrinkled his nose in disgust as the cocktail in his stomach wrenched painfully, threatening to spill out just from the stench. “You caused a problem, so now you're gonna fix it. It's what polite fellas do.”

“Well unfortunately for you, I'm not polite,” James grunted against the knuckles that were digging into his throat, making it both difficult and painful to breathe. “I'll give you one chance to let go of me.”

“If I don't?”

“I'll make you regret it.”

“No, sweetheart. _I'll_ make _you_ regret it.”

James reached for the wand in his coat, but the man was faster than he would have given him credit, or maybe James was just too drunk and slow to realize everyone else was moving at a normal speed. The man grabbed his wrist, lifting his arm and slamming his hand against the rough wall behind him so hard he felt the skin on the back of his hand tear.

A mouth tainted with liquor covered James’ yet again, far more forceful than the kiss he'd let himself get stuck in inside the bar. One hand kept his wrist pinned to the wall, the other was yanking at the belt around his waist as the man rubbed his groin into James’ thigh, fumbling for the metal clasp.

Panic settled finally into his alcohol heavy blood, and James struggled furiously, but the poitín made him sluggish and weak. He probably wouldn't have been able to cast a good defense spell even if he could've gotten a hold of his wand. Everything felt wrong, everything hurt, his lips and his hands, one held in place and the other clawing futilely at the man's face.

He bit down onto the man's lip, hard. His belt loosened and a hand tried to shove down the front of his jeans, so he bit down harder, tears forcing their way out of his tightly shut eyelids. His knees buckled, and he bit even harder, teeth sinking into the flesh of his attacker's bottom lip, deep, deeper, until his teeth clicked together and the man screamed bloody murder.

The hand was gone from James’ pants and instead at his mouth, at the hinge of his jaw, squeezing until he'd released the man's lip. When he pulled back there was no drunk in his eyes, he was sober and there was a completely coherent fury in his eyes that made James shake. He'd bitten clean through the man's lip, which was already swelling, blood pouring down his chin, and a tiny, not drunk voice in James’ head told him maybe that hadn't been the smartest thing to do.

The first hit knocked him down fast, a back hand that found James’ cheek and sent him stumbling, his temple banging into the side of a metal dumpster. His head swam with pain and alcohol, slumped on the ground and awkwardly against the dumpster as one hand slowly raised to his temple, hissing when pain shot through his forehead. When he pulled his hand away, he saw blood covering his fingers, and his vision swam long enough to not notice the man coming back at him.

It was a blur of fists, boots, and pain, the taste of iron on his tongue overwhelming the last of the poitín and leaving him longing for the mushy taste of laverbread that Teddy's grandfather was so fond of.

Teddy. What would he think of this mess?

By the time the man had tired himself out, there was barely any inch of James that didn't hurt. Moving was practically impossible, but he managed to turn his head enough to watch his attacker stumble back into the bar. James swallowed, blood went down his throat, and he shut his eyes, reaching for his wand.

If he splinched himself while apparating back home, so be it. Honestly, he didn't even care anymore. What more could be done to him after this?

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

With the multitude of injuries James had sustained, he couldn’t even _tell_ if he’d splinched himself when he apparated into the kitchen of his flat. He was already bleeding profusely from almost everywhere, so when he stumbled and failed to catch himself on his table, hitting the tile with a grunt, he just laughed at the fact he was getting his blood everywhere. Everything ached, his head was killing him, and when he tried to push himself onto his hands, an involuntary groan of pain clawed its way out of his burning throat, before he let his body fall back onto the floor, coughing hard and curling up right where he was.

He hugged the floor, eyes shutting tightly and swallowing the blood in his mouth as he shook and took comfort from the chill of the cool white and gray tiles.

James wasn’t entirely sure if he’d fallen asleep at some point that night or just slipped into a vaguely catatonic stasis, but he must have because when his mind became coherent finally, he squinted against the morning light that made his head hammer. He was still as exhausted as he’d been when his weak legs had buckled under his weight just hours earlier.

The massive hangover was expected, almost comforting in its familiarity, but the other pains and aches were not something James was used to, and he laid there in panic until his splitting mind finally managed to catch up to his consciousness. He’d gotten himself stupid drunk the night before, like he’d done every night for the past few months, because he was an idiot and wanted to forget what Teddy’s laugh sounded like. Some other drunk man had taken interest in him, and James, hammered as he was, almost did something stupid. In response to the rejection, the man had beaten him to what felt like an inch of his life.

 _Not much of a life,_ James scoffed into the kitchen tile.

Moving seemed to be even more painful than before, but he couldn’t just lie there all day, and when he managed to get to his knees, he cringed. There were smears and stains of black and red all over the floor where he’d been lying, it was a mess and looked like a murder scene. As he slowly managed to rise to his feet, he stayed bent at the waist, arms holding his stomach as he glanced at the table and the bloody handprint staining the edge of it from where he’d tried to stop himself from falling. He hadn’t done the best job.

Still, a part of him was grateful he’d blacked out on the floor and not in bed. It would have been a lot harder to clean blood off stained sheets. All he had to do here was mop up, scrub the table, and burn his clothes. But first, a shower. He was halfway to the hallway when he heard a beak tapping on glass, groaning audibly from both pain and irritation as he turned back and limped over to the window above his sink, staining the edges of the counter with smudges of red and getting bloody fingerprints on the window as he strained to open it for the massive russet colored owl he recognized as belonging to his Quidditch captain.

A feeling of fear settled over him as the owl flew in and landed on the back of one of the chairs around the table, chest puffing as she threw her head up and brandished her letter, addressed to James. Instead of taking the letter, James first took an uneasy look at the clock on the microwave, nearly throwing up when he saw the time. One. _It was one in the afternoon._

James had been unconscious and bleeding out in his kitchen almost _all day._ Worse, he’d missed Quidditch practice. The season was supposed to start in a month, he couldn’t afford this kind of slip up!

Where he expected his captain to be angry, instead when he opened the letter he found several paragraphs asking if James was alright. Maybe because this was the first time he’d ever missed practice. He was grateful at least, the last thing he wanted to do was make his team angry. When he set the letter down he winced at the smudged red thumbprint he’d left on the page, turning his head to look at the large owl when she hooted at him.

“Yea, thank you for bringing that to me,” James said, his voice ragged and strained. “Do you want a treat?”

Instead of answering, she immediately took flight out the window, and James watched her feeling both offended and relieved. The owl treats were in a high cupboard, and frankly he doubted he’d be able to reach those in his current condition. He’d just send his captain an apology letter later. Right now all he wanted to do was clean himself up.

James never usually worried about Muggles or protection charms, despite how his father insisted he replace them weekly. He was a Potter, so he was vulnerable to people who didn’t get along with the great and mighty Chosen One. If he wasn’t careful a terrorist dark witch or wizard could break in and try to hurt or kill him, like what happened to Albus in his fourth year. James always scoffed when protection charms were  brought up, though. Not everything was about Harry Potter, and he could take care of himself.

Or that’s what he used to think, but his wand was now clutched tightly in his hand, flicking it towards each window and door and casting as many protection spells and charms as he could think of, several layers of Muggle repelling charms, even a few possibly unnecessary layers of locking charms on his front door. For added measure, he groaned and strained as he pushed an armchair in front of the door, jamming it under the handle before staggering away, coughing hard and clinging to his ribs.

The light in the bathroom did nothing to help his blinding headache, and the first thing he did was down as many painkillers as he safely could before drinking two full glasses of water. He could drink a healing potion later, when he had the energy to find where he’d stowed them. Right now his head ached too badly to even care that he had those somewhere in his flat. He just wanted a shower.

Not that getting into the water was an easy task. The fabric had glued to the injuries peppered over his body, pulling at the cuts and scrapes painfully, so in the end James kicked his shoes and socks off and just got under the spray of water fully dressed. His eyes shut, the hot water stung, but he stood as still as he could manage and let himself soak. After a few minutes he was able to peel away his clothes, dropping them onto the floor of the shower and stepping further under the hot spray, head bowed and watching orange tinted water drip down his legs and pool around the drain.

Working through pain wasn’t a new concept, especially for someone who’d been playing Quidditch and getting into trouble since he could walk, but James had never been in this much pain all at once before. He was grateful the shower head was so loud, so he couldn’t actually hear himself as he sobbed and choked and hiccuped painfully against the jarring ache in his ribs. With the water on his face, he pretended the tears were just water droplets. Every muscle pulled and strained as he scrubbed shampoo into his hair and rinsed it out as quickly as he could, unable to scrub the sweat away with soap since there were too many injuries. He stood there for a few minutes too long, letting the sweat and blood wash away down the drain until he was satisfied enough to shut it off.

James was on weak legs as he pulled himself out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry his hair as he stood in front of the foggy mirror, staring down at his own body and swallowing hard. His skin was painted blue, black, yellow and red from the extensive bruising, scrapes and cuts that covered him. His knees were scraped raw, his thighs were bruised so badly he could make out the design of the tread from the bottom of that man’s boot. His stomach and sides were less bruised, a reprieve from when James curled himself into a ball and shielded his stomach and chest with his knees.

Holding his arms out, he grit his teeth. There were road rashes and bruises over his forearms and his elbows, his knuckles were raw and there was a bad scrape on the back of his right hand from that bastard slamming it up against the side of the building in the alley. James turned, taking his towel and wiping down the mirror until he could see his reflection, nearly keeling over and throwing up the minute he could see himself.

His lips were red, bruised, busted open, a nasty road rash on his chin that crawled it’s way up to his left cheekbone before tapering off. His left eye was black, and there was a nasty gash on his temple surrounded by a black and yellow bruise, likely from when he’d been smacked against the dumpster. There was a jagged cut on his right cheekbone and bruising on his right cheek, the aftermath of the man’s backhand. He’d somehow managed to get away with only the one black eye.

In all, James looked like he’d been in the wars, he looked like shit, and when he turned away he finally succumbed to the roiling in his stomach, falling to his knees and retching hard into the toilet. It didn’t come out red and didn’t look like ground coffee, so he took it as a blessing he didn’t have internal bleeding, but damn it. Damn it. Everything hurt, and what’s worse, he could still feel that man’s hands on his skin, his tongue in his throat. He felt disgusting, and almost dragged himself back into the shower to scrub away the remnants of the memory, but couldn’t get away from the toilet long enough.

Hungover, nauseous, beat to shit, he could barely move and he was crying through his sick, feeling so broken, so pathetic, so ashamed.

“No more late night bar trips,” he croaked to himself when his stomach had finally settled, shoulders jerking in uncontrollable shakes as he flushed the toilet and dragged himself to his feet.

No more drinking either, for that matter.

Getting dressed provided an entirely new set of painful sensations, but the loose sweats and the sleeveless Quidditch jersey made of rather sheer and light material was almost soothing on his bruised skin. He couldn’t seem to remember where he’d stashed the healing potions that Scorpius and Albus had given him for his birthday, jokingly saying he “might need them” if he was going to be taking over as Chaser for the infamously rough Falmouth Falcons. Either he’d hidden them somewhere stupid because he thought it was funny, or his head was too messed up to remember. In the end he just cursed himself and settled on Muggle medicine and gauze.

With a bit of magic, he managed to securely bandage both his arms and the busted knuckles, the scrapes on his elbows and knees and the ones on his cheek and chin. He was especially concerned about the deep gash in his temple, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore so he decided it was probably fine, managing to fish out a tiny vial of dittany out of his old school trunk and pouring the rest of it, and there wasn’t much, onto his temple. The gash stung painfully and made him dizzy, almost dropping him to his knees, but he managed to grab onto the sink and gasp for breath as the glass vial shattered on the floor and he grunted in pain.

Hidden under a bandage, he could pretend the cut on his forehead wasn’t there, and finally patched up, he went to clean up the mess he’d made in the kitchen, write an apology letter to his captain, eat something, and try to sleep.

He ended up stretched over the couch with the television on the lowest volume he could have it to avoid irritating his head while still understanding the show. Every ice pack he owned, as well as a few bags of frozen vegetables his mother had picked up for him but he never intended to eat, were all collected in his arms and set over the many bruises over his body as he laid down on the couch, quickly passing out and sleeping for the rest of the day.

It was hardly a peaceful sleep, though, as all he could see were the flashing lights from the bar, the burning scent of liquor and cigarettes sinking into his throat, hands on his sides that seemed to cut his skin like razors. Dark eyes of a man he didn't even have a name for. He didn't even _know_ this man now haunting his sleep.

When he woke up finally, he couldn't seem to figure out what had roused him from his fitful rest, an involuntary groan of pain scratching his throat as his head rolled to the side. The ice pack he'd been holding against his side was hot now, and provided absolutely no relief to his body, which seemed to be aching five times worse than the day before. Even his head seemed to throb, the pain collected to his left temple where he'd slammed it so gracefully into a dumpster.

There was a different weight on his shoulder though, something warm and alive, and a voice calling his name repeatedly between heavy cursing.

“James, wake up! Come on, bloody fuckwit, open your eyes!”

He rolled his head again, lifting a hand to press against his forehead and squeezing his eyes tighter before peeling them open to squint at the light. What time was it? Who was in his flat? What happened to all the protective and repelling charms he'd put up? Somehow he got the sense that maybe he should feel a bit more alarmed at the intrusion, but his mind was so sluggish all he could do was blink at the ceiling before rolling his head to the left to see who was crouching there.

“Little baby brother,” James practically sang, and Albus’ already distressed expression twisted even more. “What brings you here?”

“James.” Albus spoke in a voice that was far softer than anything James was used to hearing from him. “Your captain called me, said you didn't show up for practice yesterday morning. It was the first time so he got worried, said he owled you but it took you half a day to respond back.”

“I apologized to him, though. I just got a little sick.”

“Sick? You got a little sick?” Albus looked astounded, like he couldn't tell if James was joking or delusional.

“I'll be better by next practice.”

“Jamie, I don't think you understand, you're bleeding from the head, you—” The hand on James’ shoulder moved to his forehead. “Merlin, James, there's a lot.”

“No, it stopped bleeding, and I put a bandage on it. It's fine now.”

“Are you referring to the bandage soaked through with blood?” Albus asked, and James found it so amusing for some reason. “I'm taking you to St Mungo's.”

“What, why— No, no, dad'll find out!” James sat up quickly, his vision swam and his stomach lurched, forcing him to double over with a groan.

“James!”

 _“Don't_ tell dad, Al, don't do it. I'm fine, I'm sorry, I'm fine.”

“I won't tell dad!” Albus insisted, one arm wrapped around James. “Listen to me, I will not tell dad _or_ mum, but you have to come with me. Please, James.”

Even the panic he did feel was subdued, and he nodded his airy head as his vision continued to swim. Somewhere in his messy mind he knew there was clearly something wrong, that he needed a Healer, but the rest of him thought the whole situation was absolutely hysterical.

“We really need to get you to a Healer,” Albus hissed. “What even happened to you, Jamie? Did you offend someone at the bar?”

James nodded his head sluggishly as Albus grabbed a sweater that had been thrown over the back of a chair, wrapping it around James’ shoulders and grasping his elbows to get him up.

“I just wanted to drink but this guy wanted to shove his tongue down my throat. I told him to piss off, so he hit me.”

Albus looked both pissed off and horrified, but James couldn't seem to react the right way as he chuckled like he was still drunk.

“Okay.” Albus rubbed his hands up and down James’ arms. “Okay, James, listen, it's okay now, you're okay and I'm going to take you to Scorpius. You remember Scorpius?”

“Why are you talking like that?” James asked dizzily as Albus led him to the floo, pulling out a bag of green velvet and scooping out the powder before throwing it into the fireplace. “Scorpius is the man of your dreams, the future Mister Scorpius Hyperion Potter.”

“Well you're still a prick, that's a good sign.”

They stepped into the floo, and immediately James’ stomach and throat burned as his head began to throb harder. He could feel his blood pounding against his ear drums and clung to Albus helplessly as the hysterical mood he'd been feeling back-flipped into terror at realizing Albus had seen him, that in his haze he'd told Albus what had happened.

When they landed on the other side, in a small cozy office with the door closed, James zeroed in on the trash bin next to the desk and staggered over to it, collapsing on his knees and retching into it. He could hear Albus moving, going to the door and saying something out of it before shutting it, then he was next to James, rubbing his back.

“I just asked a Healer to get Scorpius.”

“Where am I?” James asked through his gasping. “St. Mungo's? I didn't want to come here!”

“You need a Healer, James.”

“No, I'm fine! I was fine!”

“You’re not fine, you stubborn idiot!” Albus grabbed James by his shoulder. “I'm not telling dad, alright? But you need to be looked at, and you know what I'm not taking no for an answer! Scorpius will keep the door closed at all times, no one will know you’re here, just relax.”

“What if someone sees me here? I don't want this to be in the _Prophet_ tomorrow morning, Al.”

“That's why we flooed directly to Scorp's office,” Albus tried to sooth his frantic brother. “Scorpius is the only person with a key, and people don't care what he does in here, researching or whatever, so long as it's not a threat to the rest of the hospital. He can take care of you, but you need to let him.”

James felt horrible, sick and panicked, which just made his head hurt more. He was struggling to breathe and clinging to the edge of the desk, still bent over the trash bin as if he was expecting another wave of nausea. He managed to lift his head when the door opened, watching Scorpius slip into the room before shutting the door securely behind him, eyes wide in concern as he found Albus.

“One of the Healers said it was an emergency, are you alright? You never come here during the day unless it's serious.”

“It is,” Albus muttered, grabbing James by the arm and hauling him to his feet.

“Merlin's pants, what happened?” Scorpius asked, striding forward until he was next to the brothers and taking James’ other arm, pulling his wand out and flicking it across the room where a couch was set up.

James watched half aware as it transfigured into a full sized hospital cot, colored green just like the couch had been. Scorpius flicked his wand at the ceiling and curtains the same tawny eggshell as the painted walls unfurled around the cot to close it in privacy.

James touched one of the curtains as he passed, noting the silky texture. Scorpius was excellent at Transfiguration.

“I don't know the details, he just said someone hit him,” Albus explained as he and Scorpius helped James sit on the edge of the cot. Albus stayed standing next to him, one hand on his shoulder as Scorpius lit up the tip of his wand and flashed it in both of James’ eyes.

“There's a lot more here than just a single hit,” Scorpius muttered anxiously. “Lie him down, I'm going to cast a diagnostic charm over him. He's got a concussion already, I'm not sure how bad yet.”

“He was laughing like a lunatic when I found him. James, lie down.”

James made a noise of protest but was too weak to fight when Albus eased him onto his back, staring at the ceiling as he laid there and clinging to the sheets that were almost too soft while Albus pressed his palm against his shoulder and Scorpius held his wand above him, flicking it around and drawing out the complicated spell. James couldn't see any of the diagnosis that Scorpius did, but he focused on the young Healer’s distressed features as he worked from James’ head to his feet.

“What's the damage then?” Albus asked, and Scorpius broke the charm before tucking his wand behind his ear and moving across the room.

“Minor brain trauma, abrasions, cuts, extensive bruising on the skin and in some places bone deep. He's a bit of a mess right now, but I think I can fix him pretty easily without needing someone else.”

James tensed. “No one else. Albus you said—”

“It's just Scorpius, okay? Just Scorpius.”

“Help him up, I'm going to do his head first.” Scorpius set up an armful of vials and bottles on a side table he dragged over from his desk, then moved to peel away the bloody bandage from James’ head. “Did you put dittany on this?”

“Yes,” James croaked, and Scorpius patted his shoulder.

“That's good. It doesn't look infected, which should make my job easier. Just hang on, alright?”

James tried, he tried to focus on anything other than Scorpius poking and jabbing at all the cuts and bruises, but it was hard. Every particular stab of pain had him jerking in panic, as all he could think about was the initial pain he'd felt when a boot collided with his stomach, or a fist punched him in the face, tried to feel him up and force him to bend to a will he didn't want.

 _Stop complaining,_ he thought to himself angrily after jerking away from Scorpius for the millionth time, _it could have been worse. He could have hurt you worse. This isn't even that bad. Stop freaking out._

It felt like hours passed before Scorpius finally stepped away, looking about as tired as James felt. James was shaking horribly, but he couldn't figure out why, maybe because of the pain, maybe because he was terrified. Albus had an arm around him still, he hadn't moved a single inch since getting James on the cot, and it was a little bizarre.

Albus was never this quiet, this gentle, this willing to hold James or comfort him. Partly because he was a stubborn mule who acted like he didn't have emotions, mostly because James never needed to be comforted before. He was the oldest after all, he was the one who was supposed to help his little siblings, it wasn't supposed to be the other way around.

It infuriated him, but he couldn't seem to speak in order to make Albus let go, so he just sat there and trembled as Scorpius started picking up healing potions from the collection of bottles he'd carried over.

“I'm going to have him take some pain relief potions, some anti inflammatories and some mind healing tonics, as well as something to help him sleep.”

“I don't want to sleep,” James argued immediately, watching the bottles pass to Albus with suspicious eyes.

“You need to sleep, James. Your body is exhausted and so are you,” Scorpius scolded him, and Albus opened one of the vials, sniffing it and wrinkling his nose. “Sleeping helps you heal.”

James would like that, to stop hurting, but sleeping also allowed that man to return. Maybe not physically, but he returned in a way that still damaged him. He shouldn't have been scared, he should have been brave. He was a skilled wizard, the son of Harry Potter. He shouldn't have been afraid of a Muggle man, but he bloody was, and it was infuriating.

He didn't argue further, taking the bottles they handed to him and drinking them all until his mouth had been fully assaulted by the bitter taste of dittany, harsh mint, and other horrible tasting ingredients they made him swallow. Then Albus eased him back while Scorpius stood with the empty bottles, choosing not to touch James. James was grateful and ashamed by his hesitation at the same time.

Scorpius wasn't a bad person, he wasn't a threat, yet every time his hands or fingers touched James, to assess his injuries or cast a healing spell to make him more comfortable, James panicked. He just didn't want to hurt anymore.

“We're going to let you sleep now,” Scorpius informed him as Albus pulled the sheets and blanket over James. “Neither of us are going to leave the office, so just call if you need something. I'm casting a silencing charm so you can't hear anything and can sleep without interruption. Is that okay?”

James nodded, but it felt like it was done on instinct rather than truth. He wasn't okay at all actually.

“Get some sleep,” Scorpius repeated, retreating back and closing the curtains around James.

Alone in a little closed off makeshift room, James laid back and stared up at the ceiling with a mind still fuzzy from pain and even fuzzier from the strong medicine. He couldn't think anymore, rolling onto his side and dragging the covers higher, shutting his eyes and hoping to everything he wouldn't have a nightmare.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

There were eyes on James, from every angle and every direction. Corners that were shadowed and behind trees. He was cold, shaking, hands lifted and covering his ears, eyes wide and confused. He couldn't identify anyone around him, but he could just feel that there were dozens, hundreds of people crowded around and watching him from the dark. Unable to see their faces, but he could feel everything, every horrific emotion from the previous night.

Shame, anger, fear, panic, his hands shook and his lungs contracted painfully, forcing him to gasp for breath that wouldn't come. That man was nowhere in sight, but everything hurt the same as when he was coiled into a ball on the cold cement ground of the alleyway, too drunk to fight back.

_Pathetic. Useless. It was really no wonder Teddy would never look twice at him._

James woke with a start, bangs stuck to his forehead from sweat and heart hammering in his chest, fingers clinging so tightly to the sheets that his knuckles were aching. He could hear nothing but the blood rushing in his ears, and the otherwise eerie silence made him tremble as he rolled his head to the side.

It took him a moment longer to remember where he was and why.

Sitting up made his body scream in protest, teeth grit as his vision swam and his head pounded. All he could think about was how cold he was, still wearing his sleeveless jersey and sweatpants. Why was it so cold? How long had he been there?

His eyes found the sweater draped over the foot of the bed, the one Albus had grabbed and put over him before flooing to the clinic, so James reached out to drag it closer, testing the texture between his hands. It wasn't terribly soft, actually a little scratchy, a dull brown and gray color and made of heavy materials. James hadn't noticed before, but the sweater was Teddy's, inherited from his father. He must have left it at James’ flat during one of his visits.

It carried a very subtle scent, a blend of sweet chocolate and bitter tea leaves, something spicy and fresh. Something calming. The longer James held it, the better he felt, until he pushed his arms into the sleeves and pulled the sweater on completely to chase away the cold. It was almost tragic, that the one thing that seemed to calm James down for the first time since he was attacked was Teddy's scent, when Teddy was inadvertently and unknowingly the reason James had gotten so drunk in the first place.

He needed to move, he needed to go home. He was grateful to Scorpius for helping him, but he felt on edge and anxious, wanted to be surrounded by things that were familiar to him. He wanted to curl up in his bed and sleep for days until the bruises had faded and the gash in his temple was just a scar. He wanted to forget.

His bare feet touched the carpeted floor as he eased his legs over the edge of the transfigured cot, standing up but clinging to the cot as his knees shook, legs weak. It took him a moment to stand without worrying he'd fall, reaching out to the curtains and pulling them back to step further into the office and ask Albus to bring him home.

Instead of finding a pair of grey and green eyes on him, his gaze clashed with that of meshing colors, ever changing and kaleidoscopic, water colored chaos untethered by a single pigment, an innumerable ensemble of colors; Teddy's eyes. They widened, and James took a moment to wonder if he was hallucinating, before remembering Teddy was a Healer like Scorpius and of course he worked at St Mungo's.

He was standing near the desk holding a few sheets of paper, frozen with his wide eyes sweeping over James in shock, either at his sudden appearance, or his appearance in general.

“Jamie?” Teddy almost whispered, and James tightened his grip on the curtain, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly.

He looked behind himself, then back at Teddy. “Ted… I… This isn't my house.” Teddy looked dumbfounded as James took hold of the curtain with both hands— “Please excuse my interruption. Goodbye—” then dragged the curtain back in front of him.

Of course Teddy never would have let it go so easily, and James had only stepped back to sit on the cot before the curtain was ripped away once more, Teddy standing in front of James with a hundred different emotions screaming on his face.

“What _happened?”_ he immediately demanded, and James ducked his head in shame, rubbing his hands together and pulling at the sweater sleeves to hide the bandages on his hands.

“Nothing. I… fell. You know how it goes.”

“You fell,” Teddy repeated monotonously and clearly not believing a word.

“During practice,” James added. “The other day during practice I fell. It happens all the time!” James looked behind Teddy towards where Albus and Scorpius were both standing looking uncomfortable.

Albus seemed to read his brother's desperation, exhaling through his nose and looking at Teddy. “His captain owled me when it happened and I brought him here for Scorp to look at. It's no big deal.”

“He looks horrible,” Teddy said stiffly, and Albus shrugged with his hands.

“He did hit his head. Why wouldn't he look horrible?”

“You should've seen him two hours ago,” Scorpius was obviously trying to help, but it didn't seem to convince Teddy at all.

In fact he looked even more upset than before, turning back to James and reaching out to him. James tried not to flinch. He saw Teddy's hand and figured he should be prepared for it, but when Teddy set his hand on his right cheek, on the bruise and the skin that was busted open by a backhand, he jerked away in panic.

It made no sense. Teddy was right in front of him, clearly in view. James saw his hand before it touched him, so why was the only thing he could see the half shadowed face of that Muggle bastard?

“Bloody hell, did I hurt you?” Teddy asked softly, apologetically. “I'm sorry.”

James shook his head, head bowed and focusing his eyes on Teddy's shoes: black boots, the laces were yellow, definitely something Teddy maybe shouldn't have been wearing in a hospital. Somehow keeping his eyes on the yellow kept him from jumping a second time when Teddy touched his cheek.

When it seemed James wasn't going to jerk away, Teddy started to prod gently at the nasty bruising, turning his head from side to side and getting a much closer look at the damage than Scorpius had been able to before, because James had been moving around too much and fighting against the medical aid.

“You said you fell? Off your broom?” Teddy asked. James saw Albus and Scorpius exchange an uneasy look from behind Teddy.

“Yes,” James answered. “In the air. Hit the ground really hard.”

“On your left side?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How'd you get the bruising on your right cheek?”

“What are you interrogating me for?” James asked sharply. “Scorpius already checked me over and bandaged everything. I'm fine!”

Teddy met his eye with a stern glare. “I understand Scorpius already looked you over, but I'm going to double check for myself. Are you hurting anywhere?”

_“No.”_

“Fine, don't tell me then,” Teddy muttered.

He sounded annoyed, but his expression was more hurt and worried than anything.

“He definitely needs to rest,” Scorpius spoke up. “Someone needs to be with him for the next few hours, for his concussion and to make sure nothing new shows up from the hit. I mean the fall.”

“Was there any debris in the wound when you cleaned it?” Teddy asked, peeling away the bandage covering James’ temple, cringing and touching beneath the wound.

“No?”

“If he hit the ground there would have been dirt, grass-”

“I cleaned it with dittany when I got home,” James interrupted, and Teddy furrowed his brow, still staring at the wound.

“You didn't go directly to the hospital?”

“You know how James is,” Albus offered. “Stubborn prick didn't want people to worry.”

Teddy turned to stare at Albus with a clearly suspicious look on his face. “Why didn't his captain make him come straight here if he had a head wound this bad? He never would've let James go home after falling from his broom like that.”

Now Albus was the one to look anxious, and James piped up. “Hey stop ignoring me! I'm sitting right here you know! Why aren't you asking me that?”

Teddy turned back to him. “You hit your head and you're clearly in distress—”

“I'm not!”

“Jamie,” Teddy spoke softly, his hand cupping the back of James’ neck. “You hit your head. Scorpius did an excellent job of healing most of it and you were smart to clean it with dittany, but you're still badly hurt. This is just from what I've seen on your head and your face.”

“I started getting shaky when I tried to heal his head fully,” Scorpius admitted, looking ashamed. “I'm still studying and training, so I couldn't do it the whole way.”

“You did fine,” Teddy praised his cousin, keeping his eyes on James, pulling the little table next to the cot closer and sitting down on it, keeping his hand on James’ neck. “Alright, I'm going to ask you a few things, just to ensure there's no serious brain damage. Alright?”

“You're testing me for amnesia?”

 _“Alright?”_ James swallowed and nodded, so Teddy squeezed his neck in reassurance. “Can you remember your full name?”

“James Sirius Potter. The second.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I'm a Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons, going into my second season with them.”

“How old are you?”

James rubbed his palms against his knees. “Nineteen.”

“Who are your parents?”

“Harry and Ginny Potter.”

“Siblings?”

“Albus and Lily Potter.”

“How many cousins do you have?”

“Nine.”

“Can you name them?”

“Victoire, Dominique, Louis, Fred, Roxanne, Lucy, Molly, Rose, Hugo.”

“When did yo-”

 _“Teddy.”_ James sounded desperate, wanting the questions to stop, wanting to not think at all.

Teddy sighed a little, dropping his hand down to take one of the hands James had on his knees, squeezing his fingers.

“You probably don't have amnesia, you remember important details of your family and your life. Still, if you fell hard enough to make that gash,” he winced sympathetically, “then I really can't imagine your head is in the best place.”

James wanted to argue, but considering the horrible dream he'd had while sleeping, and the fact he kept seeing that man's face in every shady corner he glanced at, Teddy probably had a point. He may even be willing to admit he was losing his mind.

“Rest is a good call. The bruises are pretty swollen, that can't be comfortable. I can try and take care of those if you want? Bruises aren't too hard to get rid of.”

“Scorp eased the swelling a bit, but it looks like it flared up again,” Albus mumbled, having wandered closer to see better.

“That sounds about right,” Teddy admitted. “It can take several sessions of physical aid and healing potions to fully heal swelling and bruises, especially when they're this bad.”

“If I'm not about to die then can I go home?” James asked in exhaustion, and Teddy squeezed his hand again.

“Someone needs to be with you at all times until your head is better. I can come with you—”

“Albus doesn't have work, he can come with me.”

“Thanks for reminding me I don't have a job yet.”

Teddy looked surprisingly disappointed at the way James shut him down so quickly. “Okay. Yeah, good, I trust Al to watch over you.”

“He _is_ my brother.”

Now Teddy just looked confused, and James felt his heart race faster when he slowly removed his hand from on top of James’.

“Yeah… right…”

“Don't worry, Ted. I'll keep an eye on him,” Albus reassured, eyeing James before looking at Teddy, then at Scorpius.

“I'll stop by later,” Teddy informed Albus, standing up from the table he'd taken as a chair. “Make sure he gets some rest.” He looked back at James, who was scratching at one of the bandages on his fingers. “Can I heal some of the bruising?”

James looked up at him before casting his eyes back down and nodding. He didn't flinch or complain as Teddy held his chin tenderly in his hand, hovering the tip of his wand just centimeters from his skin and drawing it across his right cheek before doing the same for the gash on his head, uttering a spell that sounded melodic and eerie.

When Teddy deemed his work complete, he slid his thumb across the red, raw scar left over on his temple, then backed away, allowing James room to stand up from the cot.

He lifted a hand up to his forehead, feeling the scar that was still uncomfortably sore and pulling it down to ensure there was no blood on his fingers before looking up at Teddy and trying for a smile that never used to feel fake, but now physically pained him to wear.

“Thanks, Tedward.”

Even his voice sounded odd, wrong. There was no humor in it like there usually was. He didn't call out the nickname in his usual singsong, cheery and teasing voice. Instead it shook, he sounded close to tears, he _felt_ close to tears, and judging by the way Teddy was watching him, he probably looked it as well.

James quickly turned away, towards Albus. “Okay, I'm fixed, all better. Can I go home now?”

Albus looked defeated and irritated beyond belief, but he nodded without any attempt at arguing. “Fine. Let's get you home.”

“I'll stop by after work,” Teddy said again as Albus led James towards the fireplace. “Make sure he rests! Get some food and water in him, maybe make sure he takes a shower, and—”

“I got it, Teddy, I got it!” Albus sighed heavily, grabbing James by the arm and grabbing a handful of floo powder from the little bowl sitting on the mantel, turning to look back at Teddy. “Honestly, you act like James is your problematic husband or something.”

Teddy's eyes grew wide and his hair went entirely pink as he stuttered, and James felt dizzy for a completely new reason. It didn't get better as Albus threw in the powder and dragged him into the flames to make the head rush even worse.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

James kept waiting for Albus to start complaining about having to babysit his older brother and make sure his dumb head wasn't any worse than expected, that he didn't start bleeding from the nose or black out or anything else that would show worse internal brain trauma. Instead, Albus just waved at the couch, where the ice packs and no longer frozen vegetable bags were still sitting.

“Lie down, I guess. If you want you can go to bed, but it would be easier to keep an eye on you if you were out here.”

“I think I want the couch,” James said, shuffling directly to the couch, stopping when Albus grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

“Take a shower first, change your clothes. I'll put the ice packs in the freezer. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” James nodded. He actually wasn't, but saying he was seemed to make Albus relax, and if it made his brother feel better about the situation, then James figured he could eat something. “I have soup somewhere in there. Something light.”

“I can do that.”

“Don't burn it or ruin my kitchen.”

“I can cook a can of soup, fuckass.”

James snickered at that, and it was the most normal he'd felt in days.

After a shower, a clean change of clothes, and a bowl of soup, James felt even better. His aching head and sore bruises were almost easy to ignore, the subtle scratch from the sweater he had put back on seemed to chase away the phantom feelings of fists and shoes coming violently into contact with his body.

He fell asleep on the couch while Albus sat in the armchair nearby, feet propped up on the coffee table and watching some kind of cooking show on the television at low volume, so as not to bother James.

Deep in his subconscious, he couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep, but it didn't feel like he was sleeping at all. He felt as if he were floating, staring into a void of black, and there was that sensation of people staring, judging, and the feeling of shame and guilt made it so hard to breathe.

_You shouldn't have been drinking in the first place._

James woke up slowly and with much less jarring than he had when he was in Scorpius’ office at St Mungo's. He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping, but it must have been a while. In the position he was lying in, he could see the window in the kitchen, and the sky outside was dark. Most of the lights were off, aside from the lamp sitting on a low table between the couch and the armchair where Albus sat. The television was still on, volume so low all James could hear were mumbles, but it looked like Albus had fallen asleep.

As James gained a bit more consciousness, rubbing at his eyes, he realized his head had been nestled in a pillow from his bedroom sometime during his rest, and the blanket from the foot of his bed was draped over and tucked around him. Albus must have retrieved both items while James had been asleep. It was a sweet gesture, but he was going to wake Albus up to tell him to go home and sleep in his own bed, that he appreciated all his help but he was _fine._

Green flames flared from the fireplace before he could.

James scooted against the back of the couch, lying on his side and burying his face halfway into the pillow after dragging the blanket higher, hoping he could act the part of fast asleep, especially when none other than Teddy Lupin stepped into his living room from the floo. The last person that James wanted to see him like this.

James had his eyes open part way but hidden by his bangs, so he could see Teddy without the older man noticing he was awake. The first thing Teddy did was look around the room, finding James on the couch before looking at Albus, taking a step closer to the chair and shaking his shoulder.

“Albus. Hey, wake up.”

“Mmm.” Albus squeezed his eyes tighter before peeling them open and glaring at Teddy. “Damn, Lupin, let a man sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten. I just got off work.” Teddy stepped away from Albus and sat down on the coffee table, looking at James. “Is he doing okay?”

“I think he's been asleep the whole time.” Albus rubbed his eyes, yawning and sitting straighter. “Had him shower, change, and eat, and he fell asleep halfway through a dumb show.”

“He seem comfortable?”

“He mumbled a bit in his sleep, but nothing I could understand,” Albus said, watching James before looking back at Teddy. “Look you don't have to worry too much, okay? I'm sure he's fine.”

Teddy didn't answer or look at Albus for a long time, finally turning back to him and smiling gently. “Yeah, you're right. James is tough, a fall from his broom has never stopped him before. I was so busy today I didn't get to tell Harry what happened.”

“No, that's good, that's fine,” Albus assured quickly. “James didn't want to worry dad about something this silly and mundane, you know? The man's busy, and you know how he gets over this kind of thing.”

Teddy hummed, hands pressed together. “Alright, I'll leave that to you on one condition.”

Albus looked immediately uncomfortable. “What condition?”

“Let me keep an eye on James for a bit,” Teddy said. “I'd like to look him over again when he wakes up, check his head again, make sure he's healing alright.” Albus looked ready to argue, but Teddy quickly continued. “I am a Healer, Al, I think I can take care of him.”

“Yea, I'm not arguing that, I just…” He turned his head to glance uneasily at James, still believing him to be asleep. “I said I'd stay.”

Teddy seemed to consider that before speaking again. “Just come back in the morning. Scorpius went home before I did, he's probably waiting for you.”

“Ted—”

“Let me take care of him, Albus.” Teddy sounded close to begging, his voice hushed like he didn't want to wake up James, and the two of them stared at each other for a drawn moment before Albus seemed to give in.

“Don't hurt him,” he warned, slowly standing up and taking his coat from where it was draped over the back of his seat. “Just… don't hurt him. I don't know how much he can handle right now.”

Teddy looked confused and uncertain, but didn't push Albus on the topic, instead watching the younger Potter brother leave through the floo. James swallowed the lump in his throat, hoping it hadn't alerted Teddy, almost freezing entirely when the Healer turned to look at him again.

He shifted around, sliding closer so he was sitting on the table in front of the couch, leaning forward and reaching out to brush aside James’ bangs. He shut his eyes before Teddy could see he was awake. Teddy was gentle, taking the pad of his thumb and sliding it across the scar left over on his right cheekbone. Healed hours earlier, but still sore. His skin seemed to tingle under Teddy's touch, but it didn't necessarily hurt in any significant way.

“I know you're awake, James,” Teddy said out of nowhere, and James did freeze up. “We need to talk.”

James didn't open his eyes, instead lifting his hand to knock Teddy's away before grabbing the edge of the blanket and jerking it over his head. “Go away.”

“James,” Teddy sighed his name in exhaustion. “I talked to your Quidditch captain. He said you didn't even show up to practice the other day.” James felt like his lungs had stopped working. “Why would you lie about that? You've never missed a single practice in your life. Not during school, not since joining the Falcons. What really happened, Jamie?”

“I fell,” James growled into his pillow, curled up in the fetal position under the blanket. “I fell here, and I was embarrassed, so I said I fell at practice, because that's less embarrassing.”

“You know I'm a licensed Healer, don't you?” Teddy asked, unamused. “No way a fall in your house would be enough to leave the damage you have.”

“I fell against the table.”

“James please, what's the point of not telling me? Why didn't you go immediately to the clinic for help? I'm not your enemy here. I'm _begging_ _you_ to tell me what happened.”

“What do you even care for?!” James exclaimed, sitting up and throwing the blanket back. “Just leave me be!”

“James—”

Teddy reached out as if wanting to hold James, who flinched back and pressed himself against the back of the couch, eyes widening. Teddy froze, and James saw half a dozen unreadable thoughts flicker through his currently brown eyes, before they grew hard and darkened to pitch black. He looked furious, and for a moment James was terrified Teddy would start yelling or, Merlin forbid, hit him.

Instead he dropped his eyes and took a rapid inhale, eyes brightening to an amber that looked more yellow than anything, gentle and soft and much less terrifying. Then he met James’ eyes again, pulling his arms back but holding his hands out towards the clearly frightened man.

“Who did it?” Teddy asked softly, and James furrowed his brow. “Someone did this to you.”

James opened his mouth, but no noise came out. Teddy's fingers curled loosely against the palms of his hands, still held towards James. Like he was offering his comfort but giving James the option of accepting or denying that contact.

Teddy had always been impossibly skilled at reading people like a book. He knew when they were upset, when they were angry or hysterical, when they were sad or needed to talk. James figured it must have been a Hufflepuff thing. Of course he would have figured out exactly what was going on with James in just a few short minutes. Understanding it enough to know exactly what to do.

Knowing he had the option to accept or reject the physical attempt at comfort made James feel a lot calmer than when he was expecting Teddy to attack him, and he cursed himself silently for even thinking the man would do something like that. Teddy was a good person, he was gentle, he was a healer; he would never hurt a fly.

Still, he could definitely look scary.

He didn't now, though. Right now he looked desperate, he looked gentle and patient, he looked like the only thing he wanted was to hold James, and somehow that hurt even worse. James wanted that too. He wanted Teddy to hold him, but more than that. He wanted it to have more meaning than simply a Healer comforting a patient, or Teddy comforting his godfather’s son.

_Hold me like you love me._

“You don't have to tell me,” Teddy said after several full minutes of James simply staring at him, and James blinked himself out of his thoughts to focus back on Teddy. “Jamie you don't have to tell me, okay? I don't need to know, I don't want you to be forced into talking about it. Okay? The last thing I wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe—”

“No, I… it's okay.” James took a breath, and for once it didn't feel forced as he simultaneously bowed his head to stare at his hands. “I really am okay. I think I'm okay?”

Teddy nodded, though it was pretty obvious he didn't believe him. “Do you want to talk about it?” James fiddled with the bandages on his fingers. “You don't, and that's fine—”

“No, I can talk about it,” James quickly argued, his voice breaking like he was still fifteen and clearing his throat. “I got in a fight." 

Teddy nodded. “That would match the injuries,” he said softly. “Someone hit you.”

“Yeah…”

“Why'd you get in a fight?”

James rubbed his neck, shaking his head. “It was really stupid. I went to a bar for a pint, got drunk. Out in the alley I just got in a fight. You know how drunk people act, I was pretty much asking for it.”

“James, if you're drunk that's no reason to hit you.” Teddy opened his hands again, eyes on where James was picking at the bandages on his hands. “Can I see?”

James hesitated only a moment before finally relenting and letting Teddy take one of his hands, folding the sleeve back to see the bandages around his arms and scattered over his fingers. He talked as he unraveled the bandages to check the scrapes and bruises on his left arm and elbow.

“So you went to the bar for a drink, alone, and you ended up in a fight in the back alley. When you tried to leave?” James nodded. “Why did you go alone in the first place, Jamie? Someone could have recognized you—”

“Oh, I was at a Muggle bar,” James quickly corrected. “I'm careful.”

“Then you got in a fight,” Teddy mumbled, brandishing his wand to heal up the bruising and scrapes.

“Hey, you should see the other guy.” James laughed. It was a tired laugh, but it _felt_ genuine.

“Alright.” Teddy finished with James’ left arm before moving to his right, spending a silent moment checking the back of his hand and sliding his thumb over the deep purple bruise around his wrist before trailing his wand over the marks. “Got a little drunk, got in a fight. That makes a lot more sense than you falling off your broom.”

“How so?”

“I've never seen you fall off your broom once,” Teddy explained, grinning up at James. “There's no way you'd have slipped off during practice. Getting in a fist fight? A little bit out of character for you, but I suppose if they gave you reason.”

He reached up to hold James’ chin, testing the much lighter bruising left over there. “I can understand if you're still on edge from it,” he assured, “but I would _never_ hurt you.”

James gave a short, sudden laugh, looking away and hoping Teddy wouldn't notice how glass-like and broken his eyes probably looked. He already knew it, he already knew Teddy would never hurt him. Not on purpose at least. He had no idea, and it wasn't fair to hold that over him. Teddy would never hurt James.

James was the one hurting himself by letting himself fall so desperately in love with someone who’d never love him back.

“I'll be over it in a few days,” James teased. “Just tired, right? Tired, kind of achy, hungry, ready for another fight.” He punched Teddy playfully against the shoulder. “I'm all good.”

“Yeah.” Teddy still looked worried, suspicious, like he could tell there was more to it, but he didn't push for further detail or explanation.

James was grateful. He was already anxious enough about letting it slip to Albus when he was half out of his mind and barely coherent. With his head screwed on right, he just didn't want to talk about it. It was humiliating, shameful, disgusting. Saying he got drunk and ended up in a pointless fist fight was one thing, that happened to people all the time.

James didn't want to admit he didn't actually fight back, that he was coiled up on the ground the whole time, terrified that at any moment the man would stop hitting him and realize he could get exactly what he wanted if he just took advantage of James’ inebriated state.

“You're shaking.”

James blinked away the memories to find Teddy's anxious face. “Cold.”

Teddy acted on the murmur by taking the blanket near James and dragging it around him, rubbing his arms with his hands. It was the most bizarre interaction, so easy to mistake as something more than friendship. In the first place, it was hard to believe Teddy didn't think he was an idiot for getting into a pointless, drunken fight. Now he was being so attentive, like he just knew it was a lie, but figured it was too much to talk about, and decided to simply comfort James.

“Do you need anything?” Teddy asked, and James felt dizzy.

He was such a mess, maybe he could blame it on his head. “Sit with me?”

Teddy seemed taken aback, and James was going to take it back, left speechless when Teddy stood up and sat on the couch next to James, putting an arm around him and holding him tightly to his side.

“Try and sleep,” Teddy encouraged. “Let me know if you're in any pain. When you wake up next I want you to eat something and take a healing potion. I've fixed up the more serious injuries like your head, and the potion will take care of anything internal that we can't see. You should be physically back to normal and ready for your next practice, but you'll have a lot to make up for there. Your team's worried sick.”

James nodded in agreement, throwing his inhibitions aside just for the time being and leaning fully into Teddy, his head nestled against the side of his neck and staring across the room.

 _It's just my head,_ he thought to himself, _this is just because of my head. I can't be held responsible for this because I have brain trauma._

“Go to sleep, Jamie.” Teddy carded his fingers though James’ hair, and the sensation made him feel boneless, eyes closing almost involuntarily, like Teddy had cast a spell over him.

He fell asleep against Teddy and dreamt that they were actually in love. He woke up with shame more intense than he felt otherwise, and if he cried in the shower later that day so Teddy wouldn't hear him, so what? It wasn't like that would change anything.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

After a week had passed, there were no more bruises left over from that night in the alley. No more scabs or discolored skin, no scrapes or bumps or bandages. Looking into the mirror early in the morning after a shower, James could even imagine it hadn't happened, but lifting a hand to push his hair back away from his temple showed a ragged scar sitting in his skin, still raw and bruised.

It was an injury caused by mundane means, yet no matter how much dittany he used, it wouldn't fade. It was healing slowly, scarring at the rate of a normal wound. James was happy Teddy was able to close it at least, but the fact it had left such an irritating mark was frustrating. It made it harder to pretend nothing had happened.

James was preparing for his first practice since that drunken night at the bar. His duffle bag was waiting for him in the kitchen, but he was stalling, already fully dressed and simply staring at himself, feeling over the scar again before fixing his hair to hide it and opening the medicine cabinet.

Teddy had fully stocked it with both muggle and magical treatments, but James’ favorite by far was the little pill sitting between the Ibuprofen and the basic healing tonic. A more modern version of the Draught of Peace, solidified through a complicated process James didn't care to understand.

It was actually Scorpius who had recommended it after learning about James’ near constant nightmares, saying it might help him relax. It certainly did, and James had already become somewhat dependent on it.

It was annoying, that one drunken mishap could land him in such a ridiculous position. What right did he have to feel so anxious and panicked all the time? It wasn't like anything had actually happened to him. So what if he'd been beaten up? There were people out there who'd suffered worse. James felt pathetic.

He threw three of the Draughts into his mouth and swallowed them with half a glass of water before leaving the bathroom and finding his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, grabbing his broom, and disapparating to his team’s practice pitch.

He arrived early, just like he'd planned, and quickly dressed into his robes before wandering onto the green. Being in the air made him feel a little calmer, a little less on edge, and he hoped that was the Draught working to ease his anxieties. It was still a little dark when he'd gotten there, but by the time the rest of his team started to show up, the light was starting to peek over the horizon. James didn't notice their appearance until his captain called to him, prompting him to stop midair and look down at where the man was standing.

A feeling of guilt that James had become increasingly familiar with the past week settled into his gut as he flew to the ground and got off his broom in front of his captain.

“Glad to see you here,” the other man said.

James nodded firmly, practically clinging to his broomstick as he spoke. “I am so sorry I missed practice, and I swear it won't happen again.”

The man waved his hand. “It's fine, you worried us is all. Unfortunately even one practice missed is a bit horrible. We'll be going longer today to make up for it.”

James nodded again, feeling ill and ashamed as his captain turned his back to call the rest of the team up. They wandered over, some yawning, some still fixing up their robes. James stood beside their Keeper as the captain gave out their exercises, drills and schedules, after which they took to the air.

The Keeper hovered close to James for a moment, eyeing him. “Alright, Potter?”

James gave him a crooked grin. “Of course. A little cold can't stop this Chaser.”

The rest of the day was filled with furious flying, maneuvers that made his muscles burn, and his head was wired entirely into the game, so much so that for the first time in a week he completely forgot about that man. He was laughing and making jokes and felt completely normal by the time they stopped, showering and dressing and planning on a night out with a few from his team.

“Don't drink yourselves out, we're having another practice in two days,” their captain yelled after them, and James groaned with the team members he was walking off with.

“This is entirely your fault, Potter,” one of the Beaters complained as they found a dive bar to duck into for a drink. “You miss one practice and the rest of us have to be punished.”

“Aw, poor angel, can you not handle a little extra practice?” James cooed, and the Beater went red faced as their Seeper cackled.

The three of them were accompanied by their Keeper, sitting at the bar and laughing as the Beater smacked the countertop and ordered for all of them.

“You're gonna love this stuff,” he promised. “It'll burn your face off.”

“That sounds delightful,” the seeker Praised.

James tried to watch the bartender work, to see what he was serving, but was distracted by the Keeper, who was sitting on his left side and leaning against the bar with folded arms, watching James.

“So, how sick were you? Did you have to go to St Mungo's?”

“Yeah, my brother took me,” James answered absently, smiling at the other man. “I'm fine now.”

“We were worried,” the Beater interrupted before the Keeper could add anything more, and James turned to look at him instead. “And you shoulda seen that guy who showed up asking about you.”

James felt like he'd been put on pause, shaking his head to clear it. “What guy?”

“Some Healer claiming to be your friend.” The a

Seeker was the one to answer, already getting into the bowl of pretzels sitting in front of him. “Tall, blue hair, dark eyes, jaw chiselled by the gods, someone I'd go gay for.”

The Beater snorted and James tensed up. “Teddy.”

“Is that his name? Well, he showed up asking about what happened to you, and he didn't look all that happy when the cap said you didn't show up to practice at all.”

“He showed up at the pitch?”

“Yeah, day after you missed practice.”

James turned to stare at the counter top. “Suppose that explains how he knew…”

“What's that?”

“Nothing.”

“You know him then?” The Keeper asked. “That man with the weird hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” James turned to smile crookedly at him. “He's my dad's godson, so he's always been around. I grew up with him.”

“So he's like an illegitimate brother,” the Seeker noted, and James winced.

“No, he's just a friend. We have no shared blood relation, we're not related. We just grew up together.”

“I got it, Potter.” The Seeker laughed. “You're just friends, you're not brothers. Whatever he is, I thought he was going to hex the captain.”

“Oh boy, yeah, his eyes turned red, like legitimately red. He looked pissed,” the Beater revealed with a slow nod. “Scary guy.”

“He can be,” James muttered, “but for the most part he's sweet. He's a healer and he's got fantastic bedside manner. Just, you know, he could kick your ass if he wanted.”

“Sounds like my kinda guy,” the Seeker noted. “He single?”

James felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, physically wincing and turning away to stare at the countertop and pretend he hadn't heard the question. Before his silence could be noted, the bartender returned, setting a glass in front of each of them.

“Excellent,” the Beater said gleefully and cradled the glass filled with clear liquid James guessed to be vodka. “Drink up, boys, time to get wasted.”

“I don't think I'm getting drunk tonight,” James said. “I'll have this, but then I'm going to go home.”

“What? You love coming out with us! Come on, stay a little longer. Let's black out and make mistakes!”

“Sorry, guys.” James lifted his glass up. “Got a scheduled family get together tomorrow, can't be hungover for it.”

“Alright, alright.” The Beater waved his hand, holding his glass up to James’. “A toast to our best Chaser. Let's hope he stays healthy and doesn't miss anymore practices!”

“Here, here!” The Seeker jerked towards them and tapped his glass against theirs.

The Keeper complied to the toast when James held his glass towards him, clicking them together before lifting them to their lips.

James should have known it was a bad idea to go out for a drink so soon after the last time, or at all. The minute the burn washed over his tongue, pain split through his head from his temple where the scar sat in his skin, his vision blacked out. All he could see was that bastard hovering over him with angry, blood fueled eyes.

He spat the liquor, dropping the glass and keeling forward, coughing hard. His vision cleared and he found himself staring down at his furiously shaking hands. His teammates were on either side of him, patting him on the back. The Beater was laughing, teasing him about drinking too fast, but James could barely hear him. His mouth burned, his eyes burned, his head was aching.

“I have to go.” He stood up from the stool, moving quickly towards the door and ignoring the protests of his team as he stepped into the cool evening air, apparating home before any of them could stop him.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

His nails had been chewed down to the quick, which was a blessing in the long run, as he'd taken to scratching at the backs of his hands. It happened when he was distracted, in a room that was too quiet, or whenever he was alone. James would chew his nails or scratch himself to calm down, and it worked for the most part, but in the few hours between his trip to the bar with his Quidditch team and his family get together the following day, his nails were history and there were scratches on his hands and arms.

He hid the stinging red lines with a long sleeved shirt and fixed his nails with a quick charm so no one would ask him about it. He tried to look normal, practiced smiling in the mirror, but he looked a mess. There were bags under his eyes that could be hidden only so well. Even with his hair neat and his clothes straight, there just seemed to be something off about him. He hoped no one else would notice.

The concept of spending the entire day with his family normally made him excited, but right now all he wanted to do was strip down to his boxers and get back in bed. For what seemed like the first time in his life, he didn't want to be around his family. They would know something was wrong, they'd ask about it, and James didn't want to tell them. He couldn't keep telling people he got in a simple fight, because they were going to figure out he was lying.

No normal person would be this messed up after one stupid little fist fight.

He took four of the Draughts, shaking the bottle as he tossed them into his mouth and wincing as he swallowed them down with a glass of water. After setting the glass down he stayed clinging to the sink, waiting a full fifteen minutes before the shaking of his limbs had settled. When he lifted his hands from the sink he had to note they still quivered, but it wasn't as noticeable as it had been. So long as nobody got too close, James imagined he could pass as normal.

It had been a little over a week. Every day things got better, but in addition something else got worse. James could eat without feeling nauseous now, but the nightmares had gotten worse. It was easier to laugh at things on the telly, but his anxiety had doubled, and seemed to get even more severe when he left his flat. Even more concerning, James didn't even have to leave; if he so much as stood at the door and stared at the handle he would start struggling to breathe.

The anxiety was near impossible to handle. He couldn't even seem to wear the clothes he preferred. Shorts were out of the question, sleeveless shirts made him feel too vulnerable. James only felt comfortable when he was in long sleeved, high collared shirts and jeans. The air on his skin felt toxic, burning, and the only thing that made it easy to deal with was the heavy layers of clothes he pulled on.

Shirts and coats and gloves helped, but what really kept him from losing his mind was the weathered brown and gray sweater with patched elbows. Teddy's sweatshirt. He put it on first and covered it with a second, to hide it. Teddy was going to be there after all, and James didn't want to have to answer any difficult questions. Like why he was still wearing Teddy's sweater, why he was hiding it, why he hadn't washed it yet. It would probably be weird to explain that Teddy's scent kept James from having a panic attack.

Full coverage to hide his skin, and no alcohol. After the previous night's mishap at the bar, James had returned home, waiting a bit before pouring himself a glass of premium firewhisky he had in his freezer. Barely a sip on his tongue and he dropped the glass, clinging to the edge of the table. The whisky had been a gift from Ron after being drafted to the Professional League, a pricey gift, and James would never admit to his uncle that he poured it into the sink, along with every other bottle of alcohol, Muggle and magical, he had in his flat.

The guilt and shame wasn't even unexpected anymore as he apparated straight to the Burrow, standing outside in the cold and tugging at the sleeves of his jacket before walking up to the door and stepping into the heat. There were voices echoing in the house, cheerful and delighted, laughter from every corner. The genuine homey atmosphere always made James smile, but right now, standing just inside the door, for the first time in his life he felt alone and out of place. Almost enough to turn around and leave.

“You made it!”

James tensed at the familiar voice and turned in order to meet Lily as she collided against him, hugging tight.

“Yeah, hey.” James wrapped his arms around her to return the embrace. “Haven't been available much.”

“Ah, I can't blame you, you're a famous Quidditch Chaser!” Lily squeezed him around his waist, finally pulling away after a moment longer of hugging him.

James found himself missing the embrace, the warmth. He was happy he didn't feel uncomfortable around his little sister. Lily was halfway through a sentence when James reached out and pulled her into a second hug, a hand buried in her red hair and an arm around her shoulders.

She was stationary a moment before putting her arms around him again, her chin on his shoulder. He couldn't see her face but he could imagine she looked puzzled.

“Are you okay?” Lily asked, and she sounded as puzzled as James had expected.

“Why wouldn't I be okay?” James asked. “It's just been so long since I saw my little sister, you know?”

“You sure? You're shaking."

James tensed and pulled away, hoping the smile on his face was believable. “Well, it's cold outside, Lils. I'm a chilly boy.”

This brought out a laugh, and James smiled in return. He removed his first coat, leaving on the two sweaters, and Lily didn't question it, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the house to see everyone else. James was grateful no one asked about his sweaters, or about the high collared shirt that was so entirely out of character for James to wear. Maybe they just didn't care about his fashion.

Teddy was with Harry in the kitchen, and the glass of liquor Teddy was holding made James feel woozy. Both men were smiling and laughing. Teddy was moving his hands exuberantly throughout whatever story he was telling. He looked happy and hadn't noticed James yet, so James ducked out of the kitchen almost immediately after greeting his uncle Ron.

He found Albus and the majority of their cousins crowding in the living room, sitting on the couch, chair, tables and floor. There was a bottle of Muggle vodka and one of butterbeer, and all of them were holding shot glasses.

“James, finally!” Fred greeted loudly, and his voice grated against James’ ears and made him flinch, though he kept a grin plastered on his face, holding his arms out.

“Yup, finally the most attractive of the Potters has arrived.” It was something he said all the time, something in character for him to say, but his voice was strained when he said it, and there wasn't as much tease or flare to the way he held his arms.

Merlin, he hoped they didn't notice.

“We're playing a drinking game,” Louis said. “Sit down!”

“Aren't some of those involved too young for alcohol?” James asked, walking over and lowering himself to sit on the floor next to Albus.

“That's what the butterbeer is for,” Fred answered, tossing an empty shot glass to James. “Kids get that, and us adults get some vodka that aunt Fleur and uncle Bill brought over, a gift from Mister Viktor Krum.”

“Sounds fun,” James said with a smile, waving a hand when Fred picked up the vodka bottle. “I'm not drinking though, I'll just play with Butterbeer.”

“Are you kidding?” Dominique was the one to ask, balancing a shot of vodka on her knee and holding a mug of warm cocoa in her other hand. “James Potter isn't drinking?”

“Got a problem with that?” James asked as Albus dragged over the butterbeer and poured it into the shot glass his brother held out.

“Just never seen you so eager to stay sober for a family function before,” Dominique snorted, and Victoire leaned forward in the chair she was in beside her.

“Are you feeling alright?”

James felt immediately tense. “Yeah, Vic, why wouldn't I be feeling alright?”

He looked around at his cousins. Albus kept his head down and seemed to be entirely fascinated with his shot glass. Everyone else was eyeing James curiously, and he felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin with the way it itched.

“What are you all staring at me for? The one time I don't want to drink alcohol and you assume something's wrong with me?”

“Well, you seem a bit off color on that note,” Victoire said. “You been sleeping?”

“Yes, I've been sleeping,” James lied, and Dominique leaned forward, whispering in a low voice.

“Jamie, are you pregnant?”

Fred choked on his laughter and his drink, unable to say anything. Albus rolled his eyes.

“Hey, look, vodka!” James blurted, getting on his knees and grabbing the bottle so he could lean over and pour it into Victoire's half empty glass.

“James, that was tea!” she hissed at him, grabbing the bottle away so James could fall back next to Albus.

“Well, now it's not. What game are we playing?”

“Never have I ever,” Roxanne answered. “It's getting pretty good. We just found out through shots that Freddie cheated on a test in school.”

“If you tell mum, I will ruin you,” Fred hissed. “One time, Rox, I did it one time!”

“It was a Divination test.” James grinned, and Fred look at him in horror. “I remember it.”

“You arse!” Fred almost spilt his beer flailing his arms the way he was.

“Poor guy.” James shook his head. “No sense of style when it came to tricks like that. He almost got caught, too.”

“I don't wanna hear about style from someone wearing a bloody turtle neck! What is this, the nineties? Change your shirt, James!” Fred threw a handful of wrapped candy at James, who held his arms up as he laughed.

There was a flash as he had his arms raised, a sense of panic, as if being in that position made his adrenaline pump, his brain thinking they were being attacked again. He wasn't, though, and he forced his arms down, pulling his knees up and hiding his hands between them and his stomach. He clung to the shot glass and tried to will the shaking of his fingers to stop, scratching unconsciously at the back of his hand as he watched Fred settle down and Louis pour vodka into his shot glass.

“Alright, next question!”

The game was tame in the beginning. James was happy to drink a shot of Butterbeer when he had to, suffered jabs and a few more projectile candy attacks from Fred to tease him about the time he ate a Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean that tasted of sewer water, or the time he bought a bottle of bad pumpkin juice at Hogsmeade and threw up over the candy apples in the sweet shop.

They were halfway through the bottle of vodka when Teddy joined them, taking the empty armchair across from James, next to the side of the couch where Roxanne was sitting. She got him his own shot glass and filled it with vodka, but no words were exchanged otherwise as everyone was deep into the game.

James made the mistake of staring a moment too long, which was long enough for Teddy to look at him and meet his eye, offering him a smile that was a little too tender, a little too kind.

James broke eye contact and stared down as he scratched his nails deeper into his hand, reaching under his sleeve when the stinging there got too bad. He scratched harder when he felt his cheeks heat in a blush, hoping Teddy wouldn't notice. Of course he probably had.

“Alright next one, I got one,” Fred held his hand out to stop the uproar over them. “Never have I ever lost my virginity.”

“Weak!”

“Gross.”

“There are kids here, Fred!”

“Drink or you lose!” Fred yelled, lifting his shot and downing it as Louis and Roxanne gasped.

Dominique and Victoire looked at each other and shrugged as they drank their shots, Teddy tossed his back and James felt like throwing up. He decided not to comment on Albus discreetly drinking his shot with a burning red face, luckily no one else noticed as they were jabbing Fred for details, and didn't bother looking towards them until after Albus had refilled his shot.

“No bloody way, James, you're a liar!” Fred yelled, waving at James. “No way one of _Witch Weekly_ 's most eligible bachelors and rising Quidditch star James Sirius bloody Potter is a virgin!”

“Wow, Freddie, maybe yell it a little louder,” Albus said dully, eyes narrowing.

“I would never lie during a drinking game, Fred,” James said in a mock serious voice that had Roxanne giggling as Fred made a face. “You might be a little buzzed.”

“Am not.” Fred poured another shot. “Come on, next question!”

“I have one,” Dominique said in a low voice. “Never have I ever made out with someone I didn't love."

The only ones who didn't drink were Albus, Teddy and Roxanne, and Teddy looked a little taken aback when James brought the shot to his lips, drinking it and staring out the window trying not to notice the eyes on him.

He could lie. The questions kept getting too close to his attack, and he could lie, not drink, or just stop playing, but he didn't. There was a part of him that wanted them to know, to find out. Some lonely, terrified piece of him was begging for one of his family, one of the people he loved, to reach out and understand; but they could never, and he didn't _want_ them to.

He didn't want little Roxy or Louis to empathize with a drunkard shoving his hand down their pants, he didn't want Albus or Fred to empathize with getting beaten within an inch of their lives in the back alley of a seedy dive bar. He didn't want Dominique or Victoire to empathize with the anxiety, with how the only thing that could keep him calm was a handful of Draught pills and nails in his skin. He didn't want any of that.

James wanted them to know, but he didn't want to tell them. He wanted them to just already know, and to understand, and to realize he needed help.

At the same time, he didn't want them anywhere near what he experienced. He wanted them all to stay ignorant and happy. James didn't know what he wanted at all anymore.

He just wanted it to stop.

Go away.

He wanted to forget.

Never have I ever gotten in a bar fight. _Drink._ Never have I ever been intimidated by a Muggle. _Drink._ Never have I ever been afraid to look at my own reflection. _Drink._ Never have I ever kept a secret from my parents. _Drink._

“I've got the best one yet.” Louis look excited, but Albus broke in before he could say his.

“Can I do one?”

“Oh, Merlin, yes!” Victoire looked excited, eyes slightly glazed from alcohol. “You haven't done one this whole time!”

Albus was staring at his vodka, rolling it around a moment as if in deep contemplated thought before looking up, eyes going to each of his cousins with an eerily serious light to his own expression. His stare locked on Teddy for an extra moment before he looked back at his shot.

“Never have I ever fallen hopelessly in love with my best friend.” He drank, Freddie went nuts, Victoire choked on her Vodka and James turned his head up to stare at the ceiling as he poured the Butterbeer into his mouth.

He'd known about Albus and Scorpius for a while now, and giving himself up like this in front of their cousins was not something Albus would do, but somehow James felt like he was being targeted specifically by his brother. This was further proven with Albus’ next tell.

“Never have I ever cried over my crush.” _Drink._ “Never have I ever gotten drunk over my crush.” _Drink._ “Never have I ever felt ashamed over my crush.” _Drink._

“Ugh, fuck you, Al!” Dominique wheezed as she grabbed the vodka again. “You’re coming after Vic and I, it's a personal attack!”

“You and Vic?” Albus took the vodka bottle. “No, that wasn't my intention. I'm trying to personally attack someone else.”

He poured himself another shot and leaned forward, holding out the bottle to Teddy, who grabbed it by the neck, eyes brown and almost glaring at Albus.

Brown. James almost never saw Teddy with brown eyes.

The game lost its charm after that. James drank the last of the Butterbeer in his shot glass before getting to his feet, taking one of the smaller Butterbeer bottles on the table and going towards the front door. Albus followed, but James didn't argue, holding the door open for his brother before following.

“How've you been?” Albus asked, and James scoffed a little, opening the Butterbeer.

“You saw me two days ago.”

“Can't blame me for asking.” Albus took the bottle from James and stole a drink of it before handing it back. “Has the Draught Scorpius gave you been working?”

James didn't answer at first, looking down at his hand where he'd scratched stinging red stripes in just the few hours since he'd gotten there. “Sometimes.”

Albus was quiet for a moment, standing side by side with James, both brothers watching their grandmother's chickens peck at seed on the ground. They were quiet for a long time, Albus with both hands in his hoodie pockets and James holding the bottle to his lips.

“Look, I know you probably didn't want to tell me what happened,” Albus sighed out after a moment, “but you did, and you need to know you can talk to me if you need to.”

James bowed his head, humming. “I wish you hadn't seen me like that,” he admitted.

“What would you have done on your own, James?” Albus asked. “You needed help. Shouldn't you be happy I'm the one who found you first? I'm your brother, James. I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“I am okay, Al.”

“Yeah.” Albus reached over and took the bottle from James, setting it on the ground before taking his wrist and pulling his wand out. “One good thing about rooming with a Healer, you pick up a few things like healing charms. Oh, but you're okay. I'm sure this,” he trailed the tip of his wand over the red lines on the back of his hand to slowly heal them, “was just an accident. Fall off your broom again?”

James let out a heavy sigh and looked away. “I don't know what's wrong with me, Al.”

“Nothing's wrong with you,” Albus said. “Being anxious, having nightmares, those are normal responses to trauma. It's not going to go away overnight just because you want it to, and some things might not go away at all. You need to be ready for that, make accommodations for yourself, and take care of yourself.” He put his wand away when he was done, folding his arms. “If you can't take care of yourself, then find someone who can take care of you.”

“I have no right,” James insisted as Albus turned his back to pick up the Butterbeer. “What happened to me? I got beat up. That's it.” He took the bottle when Albus handed it to him. “Al, there are people who get abused by their parents, or their spouse, there are people starving, getting kidnapped and tortured, raped and mutilated and murdered, and me?” He held his left hand up. “I'm digging my skin out of my body because someone backhanded me in an alley. I'm pathetic!”

“A lot more happened than just that, James, and you can't just ignore it,” Albus reprimanded. “The guy tried to do a lot more than hit you. You said he—”

“You don't have to repeat it, I know what I said,” James quickly interrupted, a hand raised. “Look… okay, I didn't make that up, and I guess it would've been hard to believe I lied considering I told you about it when I was, you know, suffering from brain trauma.” Albus shrugged rather dismissively and James sighed. “It's still no excuse.”

Albus arched an eyebrow. “A drunk guy shoves a hand in your jeans and kisses you without your consent and that's no excuse to feel traumatized?”

James swallowed the lump in his throat and turned, drinking the last of his Butterbeer and setting the bottle on the ground.

“To be fair, I didn't do much to stop it in the bar,” he admitted. “I kind of just stood there and let him do it.”

“So making out with someone once is consent for him to try and shag you in a back alley and beat the shit out of you when you tell him to piss off? I don't think so, James.”

James could only stare at Albus, hands flexing at his sides as Albus watched him. There was no pity in his eyes though, no anger or irritation. Albus watched James so simply, like they were talking about the weather, and somehow the casualness of it made James feel like he could talk about anything.

“You don't think I'm pathetic?”

“Oh, I think you're an absolute dumbass, can't read a room, and have no idea when people have legitimate feelings for you, but no, I don't think you're pathetic. I think you're suffering and you've tricked yourself into thinking you deserve it, and that you think you don't have anyone backing you. You have me, you even have Scorpius, and if you actually talked to him, Teddy would be there too.”

James turned away, rubbing his hands together and holding them up to his lips. “He doesn't need to worry about me.”

“He still does.”

“He's got better things to worry about.”

“You're not listening to me are you?”

“Al, please, don't get confused, there are more important things on Teddy's mind. I can't imagine me getting beat up in an alley would make the top of that list.”

“James, you dumb bitch, you _are_ that list.”

James turned back to face Albus, who finally had a look of irritation painting his features, but it didn't make sense to James. Why would Albus be so annoyed at the truth? Teddy cared, sure, but there was no way Albus understood what that meant to James, the fact he would never in a million years care the way James wished he would.

_Get over yourself._

“I really don't think you understand—”

“No, James, _you_ don't understand and it's gotten really annoying!” Albus rubbed his hands over his face. “Never mind, it's not my business, the bottom line is— _Stop_ doing that!”

He reached out to grab James’ wrists, pulling his hands away from each other, and James winced when he saw the new lines he'd scratched into them.

“I didn't notice—”

“I know, I know.” Albus sighed. “Look, you need to figure out some better ways to deal with your anxiety, because if you start like this you might not stop. There are better ways to cope and calm yourself down.”

James tugged his hands away, pulling the sleeves over them. “I told you I didn't notice! I never notice, I just get anxious and suddenly my hands are burning!”

“I get it,” Albus assured. “I'm not shaming you for it, I just want to help.”

James sighed, dropping his hands. “What do you expect me to do?”

Albus shrugged. “For starters you could try giving yourself a break. You didn't ask for this to happen, and it's not your fault. You shouldn't have to punish yourself further.” He nodded to his hands. “Cut your nails, keep them short. I get it's comforting sometimes, it makes you feel like you can control what happens to you. No one can hurt you if you hurt yourself before they get the chance to.”

James folded his arms and tucked his hands against his body, hunching forward and clearing his throat.

“Music helps.” It was the last thing James expected his brother to say. “I mean playing it. Instruments. Guitar. I guess listening to it helps too. Writing, drawing. Create something. That's what I did.”

“You?”

Albus rolled his eyes and his head, sighing. “James, I was manipulated and kidnapped by a murderous dark witch when I was fourteen. I watched her murder a kid. I watched her torture my best friend. I've gone through time and watched a man who's been dead for longer than we've been alive murder our grandparents. I was bullied and harassed at school for seven years. I think I know what I'm talking about.”

James felt ill, unable to say anything, and Albus just sighed again.

“Look, I know what it's like, okay? I still have nightmares sometimes. I used to cope in not so great ways, but I've learned to deal with the trauma better over the years. Granted, I had Scorpius to help me through it, so it wasn't that hard for me. Maybe that's what you need, too. Someone next to you like I had.”

James shrugged weakly. “I have you.”

“Yeah, you do,” Albus agreed, “but am I enough?”

James didn't know how to answer, he felt desperate and helpless, and after a moment he shook his head. “I want it to be that simple.”

There was the pity James had been waiting to see, in eyes that mirrored their father’s. “Nothing's that simple.”

“Hey, you two.” James and Albus turned to the door where Teddy was standing. “Your gran says supper's almost ready, told me to tell you to wash up.”

“Right,” Albus murmured. “We'll be just a minute.”

“Sure.” Teddy stepped back into the house, meeting James’ eye and smiling at him.

James felt like he'd been stabbed in the chest, turning to Albus once the door had been shut. “I can't,” he said, and Albus blinked at him.

“Can't—”

“With the people, and the voices, and the eyes, I just,” James ran his hands over his face, “can't.” He dropped his hands from his face, sighing. “Apologize to mum and dad for me, tell them I'll stop by later. I just… I had a thing. I started feeling sick, maybe. I thought I could do this, but I can't.”

“Hey, it's fine. You did a lot by showing up,” Albus assured. “Don't push yourself too hard. Go home, eat something, try and relax. You have practice tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah,” James sighed, then smiled weakly at Albus. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” Albus said with shrug, tensing up when James hugged him. “Oh, we're doing that, okay. That's fine. Sure.”

His arms lifted around James, patting his back and tightening his embrace after a moment of James clinging to him.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. I mean, I'll try.” James pulled out of the hug and backed up, managing a smile that felt a little more like him. “By the way, congratulations to you and Scorpius.” He winked, disapparating just as Albus started to bristle.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

The flat was empty. That wasn't weird of course. Despite what the _Daily Prophet_ liked to boast, James wasn't one to host random house parties, so it was generally always empty. He’d just never cared before.

Now, it caused a deafening silence that made him uncomfortable, expecting someone to be hiding behind every door, around every corner. He kept the television on at all times, even if he didn't like the show, just to keep noise in the background.

James tried to follow Albus’ suggestions, cutting his nails short and trying to create something, but he sucked at playing the guitar Albus had brought over and his writing came out odd. In the end he paced his flat most days, cleaning obsessively just to keep his hands and his head busy. He wasn't remarkable at drawing, but curling over a sketchbook and drawing until his hand cramped was a good way to distract himself for a few hours.

The short nails were both good and bad, because they kept him from hurting himself, but gave him even worse anxiety when he unconsciously scratched his hands only to remember it wouldn't do anything in the long run.

After another week of this, he took to tugging at his hair when he was anxious, biting the nails he didn't have until they bled, standing in the shower when it was boiling hot until his skin was red and irritated. Quidditch practice helped, and with only a week left till the season started, James was hopeful the constant work would keep him from thinking of unwanted memories.

Three weeks had passed.

James felt different, still himself but twisted in a way, tainted or contaminated. He was a different version of James Potter, and he didn't know if that was a good thing.

It was hard to eat, sitting at the dining room table with a sandwich that tasted like paste, sticking to the roof of his mouth. He dropped it onto his plate and rubbed his hands over his face, standing up and throwing the food into the trash before setting the plate into the sink.

He sat up on his counter with a glass of milk, sighing. “What I wouldn't give for a pizza and a bad movie.”

The knock on his front door had him tensing up on instinct, lowering the glass from his lips and setting it aside before jumping off the counter and picking up his wand. As late as it was, no one should have been at his flat. He gripped his wand tight as he stepped up to his door, leaning against it and looking out the peephole. Then he sighed, stepping back as he disengaged the locks and cracked the door open.

“Teddy?” James breathed. “It's eight, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?”

Teddy seemed to brighten when he saw James. “I got out early, wanted to stop by. Can I come in?” James was about to say no, claim he was going to bed, but his mouth watered when Teddy held up the pizza box in his hand. “I brought a peace offering.”

James hesitated before sighing and rolling his eyes. “Only because you have pizza.”

James stepped away from the door, hiding his wand in his back pocket so Teddy wouldn't notice it as he slipped into the flat and shut the door behind him. Teddy paused just inside the flat, his head swiveling around to look at the interior before turning to James with a shocked expression.

“What?” James asked, and Teddy glanced around again.

“I don't think I've ever seen your place this clean.”

James squinted a little but didn't comment. Teddy was right after all. Cleaning obsessively was one of the ways James had learned to cope with his anxiety and insomnia. It helped, so he indulged, even if it made his flat uncharacteristically clean. So much so that Teddy just had to point it out.

“Just gimme that.” James took the pizza box and started for the living room. “This is a godsend, the sandwich I made was awful.”

“You know there's a place to get pizza right across the street?” Teddy jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Isn't that one of the main reasons you chose this place?”

James tried not to show how tense he was as he dropped onto the couch and set the pizza on the coffee table. “Well, I've been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Quidditch practice, the season starts in a week you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Teddy stepped closer and sat down next to James. “I also know you don't practice every single day, and that between practices you have plenty of free time to pop in next door for a pizza.”

James turned to stare dead at Teddy. “Why would I do that when I have you to hand deliver it?”

Teddy grinned, seemingly unable to keep up the frown when James took a horrendous bite of pizza while keeping eye contact with the Healer. He shook his head and turned to retrieve a slice for himself, settling against the back of the couch and propping his feet up on the table.

“I guess I can't argue with that, and I suppose if it convinces you to let me inside even though it's eight at night, then I don't really mind being a pizza delivery boy.”

“I seem to recall you flooing directly to my living room at ten at night the other week without a slice of pizza in sight,” James noted, and Teddy hummed.

When James glanced towards him from the corners of his eyes he had to note the somewhat empty stare Teddy was giving, pointed at the ceiling and clearly lost in thought. He seemed to blink himself back to reality before offering James a smile.

“Eat what you want, it's why I brought it.”

James felt the need to say something in return, something felt odd about the situation, but decided against it when Teddy leaned forward to pick up the remote sitting on the coffee table, switching on the television before settling back. He asked what James wanted to watch, and James was fairly certain he replied with “whatever's on” through a mouthful of pizza.

It was probably a good thing that James managed to actually eat a decent amount of food, almost half the pizza by himself. Teddy only looked surprised for a second before he just laughed softly as if there was nothing else he'd expected from James. He seemed pleased, and James wondered if he'd shown up just to make sure he'd eaten something.

Granted he probably wouldn't have eaten anything at all if Teddy hadn't shown up when he had, but that was beside the point.

They hadn't really spoken much since the night after James had been attacked, after returning home from St Mungos. The night he'd fallen asleep curled against Teddy almost too intimately. James may or may not have been avoiding Teddy, but it was hard to look at him after so much had happened. He was worried if he met those eyes then he'd break down for good and ruin everything there was between them.

This much was fine though, surely. Eating pizza and watching a stupid show sitting next to each other on the couch. It was innocent and normal, something they did all the time. They were friends, this is what friends did together. It was fine.

“I'm gonna throw this out.” James stood up and grabbed the now empty pizza box when a commercial about hair curlers that came with a free limited edition headband and hairbrush broke into their show.

James looked back at Teddy when he was on the other side of the coffee table, frowning at the man's position, arms folded and staring down with a deep furrow in his brow. His eyes were dark and so was his hair. How long had Teddy been sitting like that? Had he been watching the show at all?

“Teddy?”

He blinked when James called his name, head raising and hair lightening as if in surprise. “Huh?”

“Are you okay? You look kind of… upset.”

“Oh, no, I'm fine,” Teddy smiled, but it was crooked and off kilter. It looked like his entire personality was angled wrong, and James stared at him for a moment longer before turning his head away.

“You know you can tell me if something's bothering you, right?” He asked, then turned back to smile directly at the Healer. “Seriously, Ted, that's what I'm here for.”

James barely took note of how Teddy's brow furrowed again before turning and starting for the kitchen, breaking down the pizza box as he went and stuffing it into the trash before moving to the sink to wash the oil from his hands.

Somehow his eyes were drawn to the window above the sink, and all he could think of was the morning after he'd dragged himself home, smearing blood on every surface of his kitchen including the window. He'd washed it off since then, but he still stared as if the fingerprints would reappear.

“Jamie?”

James jumped, yanking his hands from where he'd been holding them under the water, hissing a little when he noticed the water was boiling hot, fingers now red and raw. He turned the faucet off and grabbed a paper towel, biting his lip as he dried his hands aggressively.

“What's up, Teddy?” he asked without turning, not realizing Teddy was in the kitchen until he spoke again.

“Have you told Harry about what happened at the bar yet?”

James turned quickly to find Teddy was standing next to the table. The expression he wore was more curious than anything, but the question made James feel anxious. Then again, what didn't make him feel anxious these days?

“No, why?”

Teddy shrugged loosely. “He's been worried is all, especially after you left so early the other week. During the get together, you remember? You didn't stay to eat or anything, and I haven't seen you since then. We haven't really talked since that night either.”

James leaned back against the sink. “Is this about my dad worrying about me or about you worrying about me?” he teased, but regretted it when Teddy seemed to set his jaw.

“James, everyone is worried about you. You've been MIA since what happened at the bar.”

“Not true, I go to practice.”

“I asked about that, and your teammates say while you're practicing and doing as well as ever, you don't spend time with them after like you used to. You're socially absent.”

James felt increasingly bothered, fingers twitching at his sides. “What are you doing going around bugging everyone for information on me? That's close to stalking, you know.”

“You won't _talk_ to me, James,” Teddy stated with clear frustration. “How else am I supposed to figure out how to help you? I'm not stupid, I know something is wrong!”

James rubbed his hands together, adopting the same crooked smile that Teddy had been wearing before. “Teddy, honestly, I'm fine. I've just had a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“Just stuff.”

“Like _what?”_ Teddy urged again, and James swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking.

“Well, you know, Albus and Scorpius.” He held his hands out. “How cool is that, right?! I mean I always knew they were into each other, but I didn't think they'd get anywhere as soon as they have because of how emotionally constipated that brother of mine is!” He forced out a laugh. “Ten points to Slytherin, am I right?”

Teddy seemed to deflate, looking disappointed and guilty. He stepped closer and James tensed up, eyes snapping closed as if preparing for something horrible to happen, shame choking him when Teddy wrapped him up in his arms, holding him close. His chin ended up stuck on Teddy's shoulder at a slightly awkward angle due to their height difference, and Teddy nestled his chin in James’ hair.

“I'm sorry,” Teddy murmured so quietly that James never would have heard it if they hadn't been this close. “Jamie, whatever it is you're going through, I know I can't force you to tell me, but please don't shut me out. Allow me to at least be there for you. Even if you can't talk about it, don't stop talking to me entirely. I'll wait. Forever if I have to. Whenever you're ready, even if you'll never be ready, I don't mind.”

He smoothed his hand down James’ messy hair, carding his fingers through it; James felt tangles getting caught on Teddy's fingers and worked out so they could slip through his hair unhindered. He shook, wide eyes gaping at the ceiling as if it was the only real thing left.

“I'm not giving up on you,” Teddy continued, and James choked. “I know you've been suffering for a lot longer than just the past month, and I've been foolish enough to hesitate in trying to reach out to you. I just didn't know how. Now I do.” He held James tighter, hand against the back of his head and arm around his back. “I'm not going anywhere, okay? You are… far too important to me. You have no idea, Jamie, just how important you are to me.”

James could hear glass shattering in his ears, an auditory hallucination that snapped from his stress. _He_ snapped. _He_ shattered. He raised his arms around Teddy and clung to him, ducking his head so he could bury his face against Teddy's sternum, choking on the breaths he sucked in that just wouldn't reach his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

_“Teddy.”_

_“Shhh.”_ Teddy seemed to fold himself over James, arms wrapping tighter around him and a hand moving to rub up and down his back. “You're okay, Jamie, deep breaths. You're okay.”

The front of Teddy's shirt was growing rapidly damp, tears were rolling down James’ cheeks, he pressed his face so hard to Teddy's chest with his eyes pinched closed that he could see red spots behind his eyelids. Everything was coming undone. He cried soundlessly for a time, but a broken noise gurgled out of his throat the moment he was able to get a good breath in.

His sobs became loud and pathetic, hiding against Teddy so he wouldn't see the ugly tears and red face. Teddy didn't attempt to move James even once, holding him right where he was and letting him hide as he kept the hysterical man wrapped up in his arms, swaying gently on his feet and whispering into James’ hair. The words were incomprehensible between his harsh crying and the fact they were muffled by James’ hair, but he could feel the vibrations of Teddy's voice through his scalp, and though he couldn't hear what the man was saying, somehow he could take comfort in it.

Every sob that broke out of James’ chest made him feel impossibly lighter, his heaving shoulders shook a little less. He considered vaguely that maybe all he had to do this whole time was cry a little—or a lot. He wailed, he sobbed, screamed and cried, almost everything muffled by Teddy's shirt and chest. James had no idea what time it was when he'd finished crying his eyes out, all he knew was he didn't want to let go of Teddy.

The shirt his face was stuck to was wet from tears and snot, his shoulders still trembled and his grip on the back of Teddy's shirt was weak, his knuckles aching and his throat burning as he gasped for breath and shook with each inhale. Teddy kept his arms around James, chin still nestled on the crown of his head, and somewhere in his mind James remembered why he liked this kind of height difference.

He liked to joke about being short a lot, whined to Teddy about it, called him a skyscraper, saying he'd be tall like Teddy one day, but really he didn't mind his height. It perturbed him that Albus was a bit taller than him now, and that Lily was practically the same height, but he didn't mind that Teddy towered over him like this. Wrapped up in his arms and pressed against him, James felt more secure than he had in weeks. He felt safe.

In the foggy state of mind he was in, he even forgot his pathetic crush was supposed to be a secret, rubbing his cheek against Teddy's chest as Teddy slowly started to pull away, keeping an arm securely around James’ shoulders.

“Come on, Jamie. Take a shower, then lie down.”

James dug the heel of his palm into his eyes, stumbling blindly as Teddy lead him down the hall and to the back bathroom.

“I'll wait out here, come find me when you're done.”

James nodded weakly, squeezing the hand he hadn't realized he'd been clinging to before shuffling into the bathroom and shutting the door. He held his breath, set his forehead against the wood of the door, shut his eyes and imagined Teddy was doing the same thing on the other side.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

“I'm sorry.” James stared down at his hands, at the blunt nails and scarred scratches he'd been too lazy to heal with dittany. “I know I was disappointing you, dad and mum too. You could smell it on me. That's why you didn't seem surprised when I told you I got beat up after getting drunk.”

Teddy just hummed. “I wasn't disappointed, I'm still not. I was sad, confused, didn't know what to do to help you.”

He was sitting on the couch with James on the floor in front of him, his back to Teddy, who was drying his hair with a towel. After finishing his shower, James had downed maybe a few too many Draughts before changing and shuffling into the living room with a towel hanging around his shoulders and hair still dripping. Teddy had scolded him (not surprising) before ordering him to sit and taking it upon himself to dry James’ hair, as if James wasn't capable or in any emotional condition to do it himself. James didn't protest.

“I haven't had alcohol since that night,” James revealed. “I tried. Went out with some of my team. When it hit my tongue I had to spit it out. My head started aching.” He lifted a hand to his left temple, feeling over the scar there. “I don't know why.”

“I didn't like you drinking so much before, but I really can't say I'm happy about why you've stopped.” Teddy pulled the towel from James’ head, running his fingers through his hair to manually untangle it. “I don't like you being in any kind of distress.”

James ducked his head shamefully, fighting shivers when Teddy's fingertips scraped his neck.

“Irish Poitín tastes like leather,” James said. “That's what I had at the bar that night. Two glasses. I wanted to be drunk, but that's it. Just drunk. Black out. Forget.”

Teddy's hands paused while working out a tangle. “Forget what?”

James shook his head, so Teddy went back to work as James continued in a hesitant voice. “I wanted to be alone, but someone sat down next to me. Some guy. He smelt like a sewer, like cigarettes and really cheap alcohol. He hit on me.”

Teddy paused again. “He did what?” He sounded stiff, but James ignored it as he shrugged.

“Told him to piss off, but he followed me away from the bar. I was drunk, I wasn't really thinking straight, I was barely coherent. The guy had me pinned against a wall with his tongue down my throat.” James pressed both hands to his stomach to alleviate the wave of nausea that rose from the memory, taking a breath. “So I punched him in the face.”

 _“That's_ why you got in a fight?”

James shook his head. “Not exactly…” He only hesitated for a moment before plowing through the next part, the part he'd been ignoring and pretending hadn't happened.

Ignoring and hiding from the truth had done nothing for him but give him nightmares and severe anxiety. If talking about it would help, then fine. It was Teddy. James trusted Teddy. He'd trusted Teddy since they were kids, since the moment James realized he wasn't entirely straight, since the jarring realization at thirteen that he was desperately, pathetically in love with a man six years his senior. After everything that had happened, really, what more could be done to James? He didn't care anymore if he was rejected.

“He followed me to the back alley when I tried to leave and threw me against the wall. When I reached for my wand he grabbed my hand, pinned it against the wall, held me there and kissed me again, started to loosen my belt and shoved his hand down my jeans.”

_“James.”_

“I bit him, through his lip. All the way through. So he hit me and I fell against the dumpster, slammed my head against it. After that he just… kept hitting me, kicking me, till he got bored, I guess. Then he went back inside.”

It was quiet, Teddy didn't respond and the only thing that proved he was still sitting behind James was the fact his fingers were still tucked into his dampened hair. James swallowed hard, managing to get the lump out of his throat so he could laugh weakly.

“It could've been worse, I guess. I consider myself lucky.” He blinked away the tears burning his already raw eyes. “I managed to apparate home, passed out on the floor, slept for hours. That's why I missed practice, because I just slept through it. Kind of a weird way to wake up, face first on my kitchen floor in a pool of dry blood. That guy, he… really did a number on me, but like I said it could've been worse.”

James tensed when he felt Teddy drop his face into his hair, hands falling to James’ shoulders. “If you saw that man again, would you recognize him?” he asked in a croaking voice, and James blinked.

“What? I… I don't know. Maybe.” He thought about it, staring blankly at the wall before rubbing his hands together and nodding. “Yeah, I would.”

He heard Teddy give a shaky exhale that disturbed strands of James’ hair. James shifted, feeling only a little apologetic as he slipped away from Teddy, forcing him to sit up, and dragged himself onto the couch to sit cross legged facing Teddy.

“I don't really know what's wrong with me. It's been weeks since it happened, but I keep having bad dreams,” James muttered as he stared at his hands, holding them with the palms up. “I can't seem to talk to people, if it's too quiet I start getting nervous, I'm anxious whenever I leave my flat, I can hardly eat, can hardly look at myself in the mirror. That scar on my head, it won't go away no matter how much dittany I use, I can't relax unless I'm downing a handful of pills Scorpius gave me. He said to only take one, but just one won't work. _Nothing_ seems to work.”

Teddy was facing James, arms folded and one hand lifted to rub his jaw as the younger man talked, nodding slowly once he was done.

“People tend to deal with trauma in a lot of different ways, and all of them are unpredictable,” he explained. “I'm not an expert on these things, but I know a few mind healers from work, and talking with them, along with reading texts on damaged minds, has given me enough insight to kind of understand. I'm certainly not certified to tell you what's wrong, but what it sounds like is a form of post trauma.”

James shrugged his shoulders loosely. “I think I've heard of that.”

“I can almost guarantee you have,” Teddy admitted with a weak smile that quickly faded. He reached out while keeping eye contact with James, taking one of his hands in his own. “Look, before anything else, I understand you probably feel a lot of shame for what happened, and it's going to take a while for you to get over it, if at all. You're not going to heal from this just because I tell you to, saying this might not even mean anything to you, but what happened was not your fault, alright? You should not have to feel ashamed. You did nothing wrong, and everything you're feeling right now is normal.”

James snorted. “I'm the one who got so drunk I couldn't defend myself.”

“Did you ask the guy to attack you?”

“What? Why would I ask someone to attack me?” James pressed his lips tightly together. “I may as well have.”

“Did you?”

James shook his head.

“One of the hardest things to come to terms with is that sometimes there's just no explanation for why people do things.” Teddy squeezed James’ fingers. “Accidents happen and that's the end of it. It's not fair and it's not supposed to be, shitty things happen because there are shitty people in the world.”

“It could've been worse though,” James whispered. “It could've been so much worse.”

 _“Don't_ do that to yourself,” Teddy scolded gently, pulling James’ hand closer. “Don't ever tell yourself that things could have been worse, that other people have it worse, because it'll just make your recovery harder. What happened to you was terrible and you did not deserve it. Feeling anxious and depressed is valid, everything you're feeling is normal and valid. Understanding and accepting that it's okay to feel the way you do is important.”

James nodded furiously, his eyes wide as he stared at the bit of couch he could still see between his knee and Teddy's thigh. There was barely any distance left between them, just a few inches and James would be sitting in Teddy's lap. He was almost embarrassed that he was thinking like that when Teddy was trying to give him good advice, but maybe that meant he was feeling better?

Or maybe it meant he was so out of his mind now that he'd come full circle back to being stupid in love with Teddy.

Hell, James felt even more in love than he had a day ago.

“There's one more thing, Jamie.” James quickly jerked his head up to meet Teddy's eye. “As painful as this is for you, it's not the end of the world. That probably makes me sound like an asshole, I imagine it certainly feels like the end, it probably hurts so much you just want it to go away any way it can,” James winced and looked away, “but just because it hurts doesn't mean it's going to kill you. Even if it feels like you're being torn to pieces, you're going to get through this.”

James swallowed thickly. “Somehow I think I believe you.”

“Maybe because I'm right.” Teddy grinned, pressing his lips into a thin line to tame the smile before speaking again, softer. “I can't imagine how difficult it was for you to tell me everything, but thank you for trusting me.”

James gave a single laugh, his lips quivering as he managed a smile. “Thank you for bringing pizza.”

This time when Teddy smiled, he didn't force it away, just squeezed James’ fingers again and reached up with his free hand to brush the damp, curling strands of hair out of James’ eyes. He tucked the hair behind James’ ear, watching what he was doing like he wanted to make sure he didn't mess up, his eyes shifting to meet the wide brown eyes watching him.

James could feel the heat on his cheeks, and there was no way Teddy could mistake it. James felt his throat close up in panic, but it fell hard into disappointment when Teddy pulled his hand away and turned.

“It's already late, you should get some rest. I've got an early shift since I left work early, so I'm going to head home.”

James reached his hand out blindly to grab Teddy around the wrist when he stood up, wide eyes glued on the couch. His mouth was open but the words were stuck in his throat, Teddy didn't move from where he stood or shake James off, simply stood there waiting. Always so impossibly patient.

In the end James could only manage one word. “Stay?” Then he tore his eyes from the couch to look up at Teddy and whispered, “Please?”

Teddy looked between James’ eyes, and seemed to be seriously debating if he should stay or not, eventually giving in and sitting back down, keeping eye contact with James, turning his hand and tugging once to loosen the grip around his wrist so he could instead hook their fingers together.

“Are you sure you want me to?”

James nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I guess it would be fine.” He still seemed somewhat hesitant, but didn't tense or try to put distance between them when James settled back.

Honestly part of him wasn't sure why he wanted Teddy to stay, but for a moment there when he was standing up, all James could do was panic, thinking he'd done something wrong to chase Teddy away. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want to ruin what he had with Teddy, it was too important to him. Even if all they were was friends, all they ever would be was friends, James held it close to his heart.

Even so, when he curled up and laid his head on Teddy's shoulder, tucked against the side of his neck so he could feel the unusually rapid pulse against his temple, and Teddy raised his arm around James in return to keep him close, James couldn't help but entertain the thought that this feeling in his chest was proof something about their relationship had turned on axis.

“Jamie,” Teddy whispered a little as if he expected James to be asleep already, “I know it's not my place, and I won't force you, it's your decision, but… would you consider talking to a mind healer? I know a few, and I know you, I could recommend someone who I know would work well with you.” James didn't answer at first, and Teddy tightened his grip around his shoulders. “It's up to you though. Alright?”

James swallowed, and instead of answering vocally he gave a nod, reaching around Teddy with an arm to hug him, closing his eyes so he didn't notice when Teddy flicked his wand to shut off all the lights. In the darkness, James’ exhaustion quickly caught up to him, and he fell asleep against Teddy soon after.

~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~

Sweat dampened the back of James’ neck, his bangs seemed to be glued to his forehead, the ends of it curling from the heavy moisture. His legs and arms ached, but there was a thrill burning each and every nerve of his body, his chest light as if his lungs had been filled with helium. When he ripped the goggles from his face, his sweat heavy hair went wild, sticking up and tangled, and the live feed of him that popped up on the big screen above the pitch made him look absolutely ridiculous, but it just made him laugh harder.

He clung to his goggles with one hand as he aimed his broom down, landing as gracefully as his aching limbs could manage after hours of hard play, throwing himself against his teammates and nearly knocking several of them over as their own roars of victory were drowned out by the crowd. Their first game of the season, won by an absolute landslide with their Seeker waving the snitch wildly, giving them four hundred fifty points to fifty points.

James was herded to the lockers with his team, still in an uproar as they changed and showered. One of the Beaters, the same one James had gone out to drink with, was standing on the bench between the lockers, boasting.

“We need to celebrate this victory!” He cheered, and so did the others. “Beers on me!”

“I'll pass,” James said, though he was grinning and still breathless as he yanked on his shoe and fumbled to tie it.

“Aw, come on, Potter, it won't be the same without you! You're our secret weapon, you’re the whole reason we won!”

“You're welcome then.” James stood up as he teased, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder. “I promised I'd meet up with someone though.”

“Oh,” the Seeker followed close behind James with their Beater and Keeper, the same group from the bar. “You got yourself a hot date?”

“Don't drink yourselves out!” their captain yelled after them, but no one paid him any mind as the four of them left the lockers.

“No, I don't, I'm meeting a friend. Wanted to talk to him about something.”

“Oh— _Oh!”_ The Beater swung an arm around James, who had his eyes on the building just in front of them, where Teddy was standing and leaning against the wall, flipping through what looked like a notebook, something work related no doubt.

“It's that Healer pal of yours!” the Seeker observed, elbowing James in the ribs. “You sure it's not a hot date?”

James shrugged them both off and jogged forward before turning around to grin at them and walk backwards. “See you next week, arseholes!”

When he turned back around, Teddy had stepped away from the wall, hands in his pockets and smiling at James, watching him jog the rest of the way to join him.

“Hey, that was a great game!” Teddy praised, pulling his hands from his pockets and holding his arms forward subtly, just enough of an offer for James to throw himself against Teddy in a hug, arms going around his neck.

“You watched it?” he asked, and Teddy laughed, arms wrapping around the small of James’ back.

“I caught the end of it. You were amazing, Jamie.” Teddy seemed to cling for a moment longer, making the hug feel like more than a friendly greeting, before pulling away.

The roots of his hair had turned pink, blending rather well with the blue, and there was even a tinge to his cheeks that James almost mistook as a blush, but was likely from the cold air.

“Is it your day off work?” James asked, and Teddy nodded, turning and starting to walk, shoulder to shoulder with James.

“Yeah, I may or may not have slept in, which is why I missed most of the game.” Teddy winced apologetically but James just laughed.

“Hey, don't worry about that. It was the first of the season, it's not like you missed much! Well, besides me kicking arse.”

“Hm, you're right, didn't miss much.” Teddy snickered as James elbowed him playfully, but the conversation then turned to something more serious. “How have you been? How have your appointments been?”

It was the whole reason they were meeting up, so James wasn't annoyed at the question, and the gentle way Teddy asked seemed to keep the atmosphere between them loose and easy. James wasn't against discussing this with Teddy anymore. He still hadn't told his parents or Lily, and probably never would, but with Teddy? He could talk about everything with Teddy.

“Good, I think.” James pushed his hands into his pockets. “A lot of what the doc told me was pretty similar to what you said. She's nice, and she's funny, easy to talk to.” He smiled at Teddy. “Thank you for recommending her. I always figured Mind Healers were all stuck up and indifferent, all _‘and how does that make you feel’,_ nodding while humming, calling the aurors to take me to a loony bin if they got the slightest inclination I might be a danger to myself or others, pump me with pills and fuck my brain chemistry— but she's nothing like that at all. It… makes me feel better about talking with her."

Teddy nodded. “How have you been with the Draught?”

James lifted a hand to scratch the back of his neck roughly. “Doc said I was showing signs of dependence on it, which wasn't good, so she took me off it. She gave me a bottle of the potion, going old fashioned on me so I don't accidentally overdose. It's a lot more potent than the pills are, actually.”

“A flaw in manufacturing, I suppose,” Teddy said in a hum, smiling at James again. “I'm really proud of you. It's only been a week but you've done a lot towards recovering. You really took charge of it.”

James shrugged loosely. “I was really tired of being afraid of everything, you know? I know talking about it can only help so much, but I feel more in control of myself now. Albus was pretty stunned when I told him I was seeing a mind healer.”

Teddy laughed at that. “What for?”

“I guess he just didn't think I'd decide to do that on my own.”

“Did you tell him it was my idea?”

“Well now, Ted, let's not go that far. Let's let him believe his fantastic big brother is smarter than he gave him credit for!”

Teddy threw his head back in a laugh, and James grinned. They had stepped off the sidewalk to cut across a park, surrounded by trees and walking onto a small bridge that would take them over a little stream that flowed into the larger river in town. James paused halfway over the bridge, hesitating a moment before calling out to Teddy, who hadn't noticed James had stopped and was practically on the other side of the bridge.

“Teddy.”

The Healer paused, looking back and forth before turning around to gape at James. “What is it? Are you okay?”

James laughed a little as Teddy walked back towards him. “Yeah, I'm fine, I just… Look, I just wanted to thank you.”

Teddy paused a good few feet away from James, head quirking as if the concept was truly baffling. “What for? I did what anyone would do.”

James shook his head. “No, it's different.” Teddy looked cautiously curious, but didn't make any move to rush James as he stared over the railing of the bridge and down at the water. “I really was in a bad headspace, but that's probably the most obvious of everything in this situation. I was scared of myself and everyone around me, ashamed. I felt pathetic because all I did was lie there and not fight back. I told myself I had no right to feel so terrified because there were people who went through worse. I really… felt too much all at once.” He lifted his head to stare at the sky instead, blended pale blue and grey. “There's a lot more to what happened than what I told you, though. Like why I was at the bar, why I didn't initially fight when that guy kissed me, why I basically let him beat me, at least subconsciously, as if I figured I deserved it. Like I was punishing myself.”

“Jamie, you… That's not… You don't have to tell me anything you're not ready to tell me.” Teddy's voice seemed to break, and James dropped his eyes to Teddy, smiling weakly.

“I am, it's fine. Just,” he hesitated, “promise me something?”

Teddy nodded. “Sure, anything.”

James swallowed. “Don't hate me.”

Teddy furrowed his brow. “Why would I…” he muttered under his breath, as if more to himself than to James, who disregarded the uttering and started to explain.

“It started a while ago,” James began, “not just the drinking, but what lead me to drinking. Back in school, I… developed this crush. This really _ridiculous_ crush.” Teddy's eyes were wide in surprise, body leaning closer though his feet stayed rooted in one spot, clearly intrigued. “At first I thought it would just go away, you know how crushes are. You're interested in someone, think about them for a few months, then get over it when something more important happens. Only, that's not what happened in this case. A lot of important things went down while I was crushing hard. Albus and Scorpius were kidnapped that one year, the whole family was stressed over it, uncle Bill got really sick, you know, you're part of everything in my life anyway, you know what happened.

“Everytime I stopped to think about it, I just realized the silly crush hadn't gone away. I still looked at them like they hung the moon.” James tilted his head to the side, staring past the bridge and smiling thoughtfully. “The moon, the sun, the stars, the sky. It wasn't until I graduated that it hit me, it wasn't just a crush. I loved them, more than anything in the world, but… there was something big between us, something that felt impassable, like a massive crevice digging into the earth between us with no bridge in sight. It wasn't possible or realistic to even consider it would go anywhere, so I just… didn't pursue it.”

His smile faded, and he kept his eyes locked somewhere in the distance, not really seeing anything in particular. A bomb could go off in front of his eyes, a squirrel could scamper into his sight and transform into a human, Sirius Black could rise from the ground, and James doubted he'd notice at all.

“I started drinking, a lot, because when I blacked out from it, for a moment, I could forget how painful it was to love someone I knew I could never be with. I know it's really pathetic of me, but I honestly didn't know what to do. Every day I woke up, I seemed to sink deeper and deeper into this horribly agonizing feeling. I fell harder and harder in love and it just hurt worse, so I drank more. That night, that's why I was drinking, to forget. Forget what their laugh sounded like, what their smile looked like.” He shut his eyes for a moment before reopening them and dropping his head to look between the planks of wood under his shoes, down into the gently roiling water below.

“That's why I was there, why I didn't try very hard to stop that man when he beat me. I didn't want him to, you know, have his way with me, but I think in the back of my mind I really did want to be punished, because I was a fool to fall in love with someone unattainable. I was ashamed of loving them, and I was scared if people found out then they'd get angry. Dad… I was terrified he'd _hate_ me. Be disgusted with me. I was mortified at the idea my entire family would turn their backs on me because they were so disappointed, disgusted, ashamed.” He swallowed and shook his head.

“I didn't want to lose my family, and I didn't want to lose what relationship I did have with the person I loved. I tell myself it's fine, you know? So long as we can be friends, it's fine. Coming to terms with it… doc said it might be good for me. To confess everything and then let go. So I…”

There wasn't much else he could say after that. James felt heavy, suddenly exhausted, like he would sink through the wood and disappear down the stream, into the river and lost to the ocean forever.

“Jamie, there is nothing wrong with loving someone.”

James laughed. “You say that now.”

“Why didn't you say anything about this before?”

James had to swallow a few times to get the knot out of his throat, taking a few good inhales before raising his head, begging for bravery as he opened his mouth. Despite it all, his voice shook.

“Because you're the one I'm in love with, Teddy.”

Teddy's eyes widened, and James saw colors explode in them that almost looked like fireworks. His hair went bright bubblegum pink and his lips parted wordlessly. James figured he was in shock, slowly lowering his eyes back down so he wouldn't have to watch the fall out.

“I figured you'd just feel guilty if I told you I was drinking away how I felt when I got assaulted. I never really planned to tell you anyway, but… after everything that's happened, there's no point in hiding it. I'm never going to get better if I keep feeling sorry for myself.”

There were heavy footsteps, yellow laced black boots thudded against the wood of the bridge as Teddy came closer at an alarming speed, both hands reaching up as James lifted his head to gape at him, eyes growing wider as Teddy held his face in his hands, standing close.

“How long?” he asked, his voice shaking, his eyes bright yellow, and James opened his mouth, babbling nonsensically for a drawn moment.

“What do you mean?”

“How long have you felt this way?”

James hesitated, his head spun, the heavy feeling was gone, replaced with air in his bones. “I don't know,” he admitted in a squeaky voice. “I think… before what happened with Al? When I was fourteen maybe? Or fifteen? It all kind of blurred together.”

Teddy looked wrecked, eyes watery, and James felt the need to apologize. He didn't know why confessing would make Teddy look so shattered unless he was feeling guilty, and that was exactly what James had wanted to avoid.

“Teddy, it wasn't your fault,” James hurried. “I'm the one who chose to drink, so what happened that night happened because of a choice I made. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time because of my own shitty coping mechanisms, none of this was your fault.”

“Jamie, why couldn't you have told me?” Teddy asked. “Why couldn't I have told you? This entire thing could have been avoided if I'd just…” His expression twisted, his eyes flashed red in frustration and anger, but James was immobile with the hands cradling his face.

“Ted—”

“I love you too,” Teddy rushed. “Jamie, I love you too. I have for… for…” He looked panicked, fingers shaking against James’ cheekbones. “I don't know, Jamie, a long time. Not as long as you, bloody fucking hell _,_ but long enough.”

“Teddy.”

Teddy pressed his hands firmer into James’ cheeks, not hard enough to hurt him, just enough to feel the warmth of his palms, his thumbs brushing under his eyes as he stared at James like nothing else existed. He stared at James in a way he only ever daydreamed about. It wasn't a dream though. No, this couldn't be a dream.

“Can I…?”

James didn't know what Teddy was asking exactly, but he nodded, and Teddy got closer, shading James, their faces inches apart. James was staring at the foggy blue of the sky when Teddy's lips brushed over his own, eyes fluttering when he realized what was happening and shutting them as their lips slotted together in a kiss that had warmth exploding in James’ chest.

 _This_ was how Teddy kissed. Warm, tender, palms pressed to James’ cheeks and fingers buried into what hair he could reach, his form curled over James, who had to tilt his chin to keep their lips together. It was exactly— It was _better_ than anything he'd ever dreamed about.

Teddy smelt warm, subtly like chocolate, old books and ink, slightly bitter from medicinal herbs with something spicy sweet mixed into it all, like cinnamon. James inhaled deeply through his nose to get more of that scent, duffel bag falling from his shoulder and hitting the bridge with a thud as he lifted his hands to hesitantly brush at Teddy's elbows.

When there was no protest, he slid his hands fully onto Teddy's arms, following his elbows up to his shoulders and digging his fingers into Teddy's shirt there. He pushed himself closer, onto his toes to deepen the kiss, one of Teddy's hands moved from his face and into his hair, cupping the back of his head and cradling him close.

There was no telling how long they stood like that, clinging to each other lost in a kiss, but James felt lost in his head when they parted, still holding each other as they both seemed to take a moment to process what had happened. When they looked at each other again, James felt overwhelmed.

“Can I pretend that was my first kiss?” His bottom lip trembled. “My actual first kiss wasn't… wasn't…”

Teddy pulled him into a crushing hug that forced the air out of his lungs, not knowing where his arms were supposed to go before wiggling around enough to get them around Teddy's waist.

“Nothing else matters,” Teddy said into James’ neck. “Understand? No other time matters. Just this. Just us.” He pulled away, holding James’ face with one hand and pressing their foreheads together. “I love you. Jamie, I love you.”

James was practically swallowing the air around him, nodding. “I love you too.”

“I know,” Teddy laughed, pressing his lips to James’ forehead, then his temple, over the scar still sitting deep in his skin hiding behind his hair. “Thank you for telling me, Jamie. I don't think I ever would have admitted it on my own.” Teddy laid his head on top of James’, swaying from side to side with James still hugged to his chest. “Everything I could have missed. Everything I did miss. Everything that could've been avoided.”

“Don't think about it,” James said, face pressed against Teddy's chest. “You said it yourself, nothing else matters.” He shivered, tightening his grip on the back of Teddy's shirt. “Can we go home, I… I feel like I'm about to cry again.”

Teddy nodded against James’ head, reaching his hand down and wordlessly summoning the duffel bag into his hand before wrapping his arm back around James.

James didn't know what this meant for the future. He could feel the mutual love that Teddy felt for him, that he returned against all odds, and that was something James never would have expected in a million years, something he never would have even asked for. He had Teddy, and that was amazing. He was starting to heal from an incident he never realized would affect him so negatively, and he was growing even more comfortable talking to the mind healer Teddy recommended.

Yet it had only been a week since beginning the treatment for his mind. Beyond that, there was no telling what his family, what his father would say if they ever found out about whatever this was starting between Teddy and James, or about what happened that night at the bar.

He didn't mind, though. He realized he wasn't as afraid as he maybe should have been. Maybe it was because of the adrenaline left over from the terrifying confession, or the unfamiliar sensation crawling over his skin making him dizzy left over from the kiss, but he just wasn't worried about anything other than getting home.

As they disapparated, still wrapped in each other's arms, the only thing that passed through James’ mind was whether or not Teddy would want his sweater back, because now he actually had a right to wear it everywhere, and frankly he really didn't want to return it.

Whatever the future held, whatever damages had been left over from his attack, they were inconsequential. James was strong enough to overcome them, he was certain of it now, especially now he knew Teddy wouldn't hate him for his helpless love. Everything would be fine now. James was almost looking forward to it.


End file.
